


School of Wrong

by Titch360



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-29 20:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 92,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7698664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titch360/pseuds/Titch360
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With crime on the rise, and a new breed of criminal running the streets, what is going to be the response of Team Batman?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

School of Wrong

Chapter 1

 

Standing on the front steps leading out of his apartment building, Carl Reeves fumbled with his keys in his quickly-chilling hand.  Turning from the door, Carl dropped the keys as the ring slipped through his fingers.  The man shook his head in frustration as he walked down the steps to retrieve his keys.

He heard quiet, intense voices as he approached his car.  Stopping to look, he couldn’t help but laugh at the two youths kneeling next to the door.  Both looked like they could use a good meal, and the larger one shivered as the wind picked up.  Carl watched as the larger boy moved unconsciously to block the wind, as much as his skinny frame could, to keep it from hitting the smaller boy.  Coming quietly closer, he overheard the boys talking.

“This is taking too long.  Would you hurry up already?” The larger child hissed urgently.

“I’ve only ever done this once.  It’s not as easy as they make it look on T.V.”  Chilled hands fumbled with half of a coat hanger, trying to snag the latch and open the door.

The larger boy glanced back into the vehicle, “Just look at that fat wallet.  What kind of idiot would leave that on the seat in this neighborhood?  There’s got to be enough in there to keep us fed for weeks.”

Growing more frustrated at his lack of success, the smaller boy pulled the hanger from the window and growled, “Why don’t we just smash the window, it’ll be quicker?”

Having heard enough, Carl made his presence known.  “What are you boys doing?” He asked gently.

Looking up, the larger boy, who now looked much older than Carl had originally thought, paled.  He grabbed the obviously younger boy and scampered off towards a nearby alley with a cry of, “Run!  Let’s get out of here!”  Dropping the broken piece of coat hanger, they younger boy followed in his tracks.

Smiling, Carl picked up the piece of metal and looked at the alleyway where the boys had disappeared, remembering his own early days on the mean streets of Gotham.  He started out much in the same way as he figured those two boys had, a broken home leading to Carl having to learn how to steal to survive.

Stopping to catch their breath two blocks away, the boys hid under a broken streetlight, the darkness concealing them as they checked to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

“What are we going to do now, King?” The smaller boy asked, frustrated with his failed attempt to break into the car.

King shook his head, the oversized watch cap sliding on his shaved head.  “What we have to do.  What we’ve _been_ doing, Rome.  We’re going to survive.  So, we didn’t get the wallet, there’s more out there for us.”

The boys huddled down behind a dumpster to block the cold, winter wind that was blowing down the alley.  King, the older boy, opened his flimsy windbreaker and wrapped it around Rome, the younger boy, in an attempt to share a little warmth.  Both boys were close to freezing, but were immensely glad that the winter snow had held off for another day.  Despite the near-freezing wind, it had actually been a relatively mild fall in Gotham City.  The approaching winter was predicted to be mild as well, with below normal amounts of snowfall predicted in the farmer’s almanac.  The fact that it was two days after Halloween and the city hadn’t seen a single flake of snow gave credence to the prediction.  In the grand scheme of things, they knew they could survive the wind, but the snow, when it came, might be the last thing they ever saw.

Three days and one meager meal at a local soup kitchen later, the boys sat huddled in the same alley, shivering as the temperature dropped another few degrees every day.  What little conversation that passed between them centered on where to find another free meal.  King had managed to steal a couple bags of chips from a convenience store yesterday, but that had done little to curb the hollow feeling in their stomachs.  His plan had been to ration the small snack to keep them going for a while longer, but after he saw the longing look in Rome’s eyes, he couldn’t keep a single crumb from the younger boy’s hungry mouth.  He had even given half of his own bag to the starving child, who felt bad that the older boy was going without, but was too hungry to stop himself from tearing open the foil wrapper and licking every last crumb from the packaging.

The thrum of an engine could be heard idling outside of the alley.  When the vehicle didn’t move off for several minutes, King stuck his head out from behind the dumpster.  He hoped that, maybe, he could beg for a couple dollars to feed the young, starving child.

Quickly pulling his head back, King whispered, “Rome, it’s the same car from the other day.”

Rome snuck a quick peek, thinking about the fat wallet seen on the passenger seat earlier in the week, “Think that guy is dumb enough to leave his wallet on the seat again?”

Rome stood up, only to be dragged down by King again, “Don’t be an idiot, the car is still running.  He has to still be in there.  Besides, he’s probably some perv, just looking to get some little kid, like you, in his car.”

“I’m not a pervert,” A voice sounded from behind the boys.  King jumped while Rome grabbed onto his jacket and hid behind the larger youth.  The man held up his hands in a placating gesture, expecting the children to run off again.  He laughed lightly as he said, “It’s okay, boys.  I’m not going to hurt you.  I may, actually, be able to help you.”

Rome looked cautiously at the man from behind King as the older boy looked for a safe exit to the alley.  “Why?” the younger boy asked.

The man sighed and took a step back, keeping his hands held out to his sides.  “Because I can remember what it was like, living on these streets.  I used to be in your shoes, once upon a time.  These streets and alleys are no place for a couple young boys.”

King scoffed, ready to pounce if necessary to defend the younger boy, “And what would be better?  Your car, with the child locks on the rear doors?  Your nice, warm bed?  Your shower?  Your _pleasure dungeon?_ ”

The man looked sad at the outburst, remembering when he had thought any offer of kindness was a trap, leading to the same outcomes.  _These boys have had it rough out here, if that is the first place his mind goes when someone offers to do something for them._   “How about the diner up the street?  I’m going for a burger, you can join me, if you want.  No pressure, no tricks, just a hot meal.  You look like you could use one.”

Again, Rome spoke up from his half-hidden position, “Why?”

The man turned back to the boys, having already started walking towards his running car, “Everyone deserves a second, or third, or fourth chance.”  Carl walked off, leaving the boys standing next to the foul-smelling dumpster as he drove away.

Twenty minutes later, just as his burger was served, two half-frozen, shivering, starving boys slid into the booth across from the man.  Nothing was said, he just nodded at the boys, then waved at the waitress, then pointed at his burger, then the boys, then held up two fingers, indicating she should bring two more meals.  They sat silently, sizing each other up, while the man continued to eat his burger.  Two more plates arrived within minutes, and the boys began eating greedily before the worn plates hit the dingy tabletop.

Both of the boy’s plates were cleaned before the man finished his burger.  _They probably haven’t eaten in a while,_ he thought _._   As soon as the man was done with his meal, the younger boy said the first words that passed between them since the alley.

“Um…Sorry I tried to break into your car.  We were hungry…”

“I can tell,” the man interrupted with a smile.

“…And you left your wallet on the front seat.  We thought it would be easy pickings, and anyone stupid enough to do that in this neighborhood deserves to be robbed.”

King elbowed Rome in the ribs for his comment.  The youth flinched, then said with a wince, “Sorry, no offense.”

The man laughed at the honesty in the statement.  “Don’t worry, I’m not offended.  It was my fault for leaving the wallet in the car.  I was only running inside for a minute.  I didn’t even notice I left it in the car.  If you had gotten away with it, then you would have deserved to have it, and I would have deserved what came my way.”

“What’s your name, mister?” King asked, still wary of their new benefactor.

“Carl.  Carl Reeves.”

“Well Carl, Carl Reeves.  Why are you so interested in what happens to us?  You could have called the police and reported two street rats trying to break into your car.  Why did you stop at the alley today?  Are we something special, or do you just go around, buying lunch for anyone who looks down on their luck?”

“It’s like I told your…brother?” Neither boy made any movement or sound at the word.  Carl shrugged and continued, “I remember what it was like, growing up on these streets.  In fact, I spent a lot of my youth in an alley not too far from where I found you two today.  I was one of the lucky ones.  I got picked up by a man, not too different from myself, who was able to turn my life around.  He was a priest, and he was able to get me into a school, gave me a place to stay.  It wasn’t always the best of times, but it was better than freezing next to a dumpster.”

King looked skeptical, “So, you’re a priest?”

Carl laughed again, “No, far from it.  But I work for a school, one much like the one that priest was able to get me into.”

“What does any of this have to do with us?” King asked, already looking for a way out of the diner.

Carl waved the waitress over and ordered a cup of coffee.  Glancing at the boys, he added two cups of hot chocolate to the order, seeing the younger boy still shivering.  “Think of it as my way of giving back for what was given to me.”

“So, what do we have to ‘give back’ for the meal?” Rome asked in a small voice.  Carl looked the boy in the eye and saw nervousness, and a touch of fear, in the gaze.

“I work for a school for underprivileged youth.  Many of our students were brought to the school out of similar situations to yours; cold, hungry, looking for a break in life.  We try to give them that break.  I think you two could use something to go your way right now.”

“Why us?” King asked.  “We see dozens of cold, hungry, down on their luck kids every day.  Why not them?”

Carl met King’s eyes evenly.  “If you want to stay on the streets, in the cold, the door is right over there.  I’m not trying to force you into anything.  If you think you can find a better offer, then go right ahead.”

“What offer?” Rome asked.  “I haven’t heard an offer.  All I heard is that you work for a school.”

Carl smiled, liking the straight talk the younger child gave him.  It was a refreshing change from so many of the homeless kids on the streets of Gotham.  “Here’s the offer.  The school gets funding through the government, but the funding is based on census.  The more students enrolled in the school, the more funding the program gets.  We have openings; empty desks and empty beds mean lost chances at expanding our programs.  I can put your names on two beds and get you off the streets and out of the cold tonight.  You two would be in a much better place than you are now, and I can add two more names to the list we send the government weekly to prove our enrollments.”

The waitress brought the steaming drinks, which the boys held reverently in their still-chilly hands.  Rome took a sip of the hot liquid, swallowed slowly, then made a face and stuck his vaguely brown-stained tongue out.  Carl chuckled and asked, “What’s that look for?”

The boy said quietly, “It tastes like soap, but its warm, and that’s what matters.  Thank you.”

King sent a long, caring look at Rome, before turning to Carl and asking, “What do we have to do to take you up on this offer?”

Carl thought for a second before saying, “Tell me your story.  I want to know how King and Rome ended up on the streets of Gotham City.  Why don’t we start with your names?  King and Rome sound like aliases or nicknames to me.”

King snorted and said, “It’s better than my real name.”

“Which is?”

King looked down at the worn blue Formica covering the top of the table and muttered, “Herod…Herod Jones.  Mom liked obscure names.  You go around the streets calling yourself Herod, you might as well tape a ‘kick me’ sign to your back.  King is a bit more fitting, I think.”

Carl nodded sagely, “Yes, it suits you as a nickname.  How about you, Rome.  What sort of name are you hiding?”

Rome gave the man a quizzical look and said, “No, that’s my real name.  Roman Walker.  I actually like my name, so I have no reason to hide it.”

“So…not brothers, then?”

“Cousins,” King said.  “We’re all the family each of us has left.”

“I’m sorry.  What happened?”

King and Rome both looked hesitant, resistant to tell their story to a stranger, even one that was offering them more than anyone else had.  Carl caught the looks and said, “Why don’t you think of it as payment for the meal.  Also, you scratched up my car with that coat hanger, Rome.  You owe me at least a little bit of your story.”

The boys looked at each other before giving slight nods.  Rome allowed King to speak.  “Our moms were sisters.  They were close, really close.  They talked every day on the phone, worked for the same company, married guys who were very…similar…in personality, at least, some parts of their personality.  Unfortunately, when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, Rome’s mom was, too.  That’s where our stories diverge a bit, though.  See, Rome’s dad was…let’s call him an abusive son of a bitch, and leave it at that.”  Rome shot King a hard glare, and the older boy winced.  “I’m sorry, Rome, but you know it’s the truth.  It would kill me when you would come over with black eyes or bandages from when he would hit you.” King looked back at Carl, who was wincing sympathetically for the smaller boy.  “We were pretty much raised together.  When Rome’s mom got sick, his dad got really drunk and started beating Rome with a belt.  A neighbor called the police, and he was taken away, and Rome came to live with us while his mom was in the hospital.  I…I guess they found out in prison that he was in for beating his son, because he was killed in his cell a week after being sentenced.”

Rome sniffed mightily, catching Carl’s attention.  Looking up at the man, Rome said quietly, “What?  He was still my dad, even if he did hit me.  I still miss him, sometimes.”

King continued, “Soon after Rome came to stay with us, my mom took a turn for the worse, and had to go to the hospital herself.  She was put in the same room as her sister.  They both survived for another week, but they died within hours of each other.”

King broke off, tears dripping from his eyes as he turned and hugged the younger boy.  Carl let them have all the time they needed to get themselves under control.  King blubbered, “Sorry, it just hurts.”

“I understand.  It’s okay, take your time.  I lost my parents at a young age, too.”

“Thank you, and I’m sorry you had to go through that, too,” King said.

Several minutes later, King continued, his voice a bit quieter.  “Sorry.  Where was I?  Oh, yeah.  So, the two of us were left with my dad.  He tried to provide a good home for us, he really did.  We were in school, and dad was working in a factory.  It didn’t pay a lot, but it kept a roof over our heads.  Then, when the economy crashed, things started turning bad.  The apartment where we were living raised our rent, trying to cover their losses.  We just couldn’t afford it.  We tried selling our things to make ends meet, but no one was buying.  What we could sell never seemed to make a dent in the bills.  We were evicted from the apartment two months later, and started living in dad’s van.  We tried hotels, motels, rented rooms, but we still couldn’t afford it, not with three mouths to feed and two colossal hospital bills to pay.  We tried shelters, but those places are worse than the streets.  Plus, they would kick us out as soon as they found out that dad still had a job.  That was the only bright spot, was that dad still had a job at the factory, at least, he did until I got sick.  He started taking time off to care for me.  I guess he took too much time off, because they fired him.  They fired him for caring for his son.” King glared at the table, his voice vehemently bitter.

After taking a couple deep, calming breaths, King continued, “I got better soon after he was fired.  Dad tried looking for other jobs, but no one was hiring, with the economy in the toilet.  He tried day labor, but he just didn’t have the enthusiasm any more.  Being fired broke him; he couldn’t get over it, even for us.  He…he jumped off the Gotham Bay Bridge three years ago.  We had to sell the van for food money.  We’ve been on the streets ever since, just trying to survive.”

The boys stared at the table top guiltily.  To Carl’s surprise, Rome spoke up.  “Uncle Mike was good to us.  He tried his hardest, but it wasn’t enough.  I don’t want to end up like that, and I don’t want King to end up like that, either.”

“We won’t, Rome.  We’ll make it, I promise you.”  King threw an arm around the smaller boy’s shoulders comfortingly.

Carl nodded at the boys and gave them a small smile.  “The offer is on the table, boys.  I don’t know what the future holds for you two, but if the school can help, then I want to see that happen.  Unfortunately, your story is all too familiar.  Many of the students at the school have lived through similar tragedies.  You won’t be alone there.  You have more than made up for the dinner and the scratches to the car.  So, what do you say?  Does the school have two more students?”

King looked hesitant, and asked, “What kind of school is this?”

“The school is a boarding school, you stay in rooms in the same big building as the classrooms.  We are a certified K-12, offering a GED to graduates.  We also have many vocational offerings and some employment placement assistance.  We may not have a football team, but I can guarantee you won’t be bored.  I assume you both dropped out of your old schools?  How far did you go?  What was the last grade you completed?”

King said quietly, “Eighth.”

Rome said in the same tone of voice, “Third.”

“That’s okay.  We can place you according to where you need to be.  There will be some placement tests, just to make sure we get you in the right grades.  You will also have to get physicals.  You two have been living on the streets for a long time, we are going to want to make sure you are healthy.  Everything will be taken care of over the next few days at the school.  We have on-staff nurses who can offer you a lot of the health care you could need.”

Carl paid the check the waitress had dropped off during King’s story.  She obviously overheard some or all of what the teen said, because she wrote on the bill, _This is a good thing you’re doing, the boy’s meals are on us.  God bless._

Walking out of the restaurant, the boys followed Carl to his car.  Rome stopped first, King stopped a second later.  Carl turned to them as he opened the driver’s door.  He didn’t say anything, just waited for one of the boys to say something.

Rome spoke first.  “I don’t know.  This still seems weird to me for some reason.  You’ve been really nice to us, but I’m just not sure.”

King followed his cousin’s statement.  “I have to agree with Rome.  It’s a tempting offer, but I want to think about it for a while.  Is…is that okay?  Does this offer have a time limit?”

Carl looked disappointed.  He sighed in a defeated way.  _Some people just aren’t ready to trust.  You know this, Carl.  Don’t be disappointed, they aren’t the first kids to disappear after a free dinner.  Still, though, I thought these two would be able to see what’s being offered to them._   “Yes, the offer has a time limit.  It expires just as soon as you give me a definitive yes or no.  If that’s now, okay.  If it’s a month from now, okay.”

King seemed relieved at the answer. “Okay.  Thanks for dinner.  We’ll think about your offer.”

Carl shrugged and got in the car.  He started the engine and was about to back out of the parking spot when there was a tapping on the window.  He rolled it down to hear King ask, “How do we get in touch with you, if we decide to take you up on your offer?”

“You remember where you tried to break into my car?  The apartment building right there.  Apartment 1A is mine.  First floor, first door, you can’t miss it.  Building address is 468 Waterman.  I hope to see you soon.”  Carl slowly backed out of the spot, careful not to hit either of the two youths that he felt himself starting to care about.  As he waited for a break in traffic, to turn out of the parking lot, he looked in the rear view mirror, and was surprised to see the boys had disappeared.

Overnight, a torrential downpour hit Gotham unexpectedly.  The storm, the first big winter event of the season, quickly filled storm channels and turned alleyways into small rivers.  News reports showed the police fishing drowned homeless people out of sewers and storm channels, where they had been living away from the uncaring society of the city.  Shelters and churches were packed to the gills with the homeless who were smart enough to seek shelter from charity organizations and churches.  Emergency supplies earmarked for the less fortunate were used at an alarming rate.

Three days after the storm started, it showed no signs of stopping.  It would let up to a light drizzle for a few hours, but the heavy clouds were never far behind. 

At ten o’clock at night on the third day of the storm, a nervous knock landed on Carl Reeves front door.  Cautiously opening the door, he revealed two shivering, drenched, nearly emaciated waifs standing on his doormat.

King looked up at the man, wiping a dripping nose as he stuttered, “H-H-Hi.  We wo-w-wo-would l-like t-t-to accept y-y-your of-f-fer.”

“Oh my god.  Get in here, you two.  Have you been out in the rain since I left you?”

The boys entered the small apartment and Rome said, “W-we c-c-couldn-n’t get into a sh-sh-shelter.”

The man brought towels and wrapped them around each of the boys.  “Now, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you should really get out of those wet clothes, before you get sick.  I have a washer and dryer here, I can wash them for you.  The bathroom and my bedroom are in the back, through that hallway.  You two can shower and change into anything you find back there.  I’ll stay out here, I promise.  Go back and lock the door, just let me make sure you aren’t going to catch a cold before I take you to the school, okay.”

King and Rome were too cold, tired, and hungry to care about anything but the offer of a warm room and warm clothes.  They both nodded and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind them.  Carl sat in a chair next to the window, rubbing his forehead.  _I will be amazed if neither of them catch pneumonia.  How could they have been out on the streets in this storm for so long, and still survive?  I wonder if they’ve eaten since I saw them.  They look skinnier than they were when I last saw them.  I must have some soup around here I can heat up._

Carl busied himself in the kitchen as he heard the shower go on and off twice.  He was even more amazed when he heard the washing machine turn on.  Turning at the sound, he saw the two boys come out of the back room, wearing what had to be every pair of sweats and every jacket he owned.  He would have laughed if it wasn’t such a pathetic sight.  He still smiled as he dished out bowls of tomato soup to the boys, as they sat around the small dining table.

The soup was gone before Carl could make up a couple sandwiches to go with the soup.  While waiting for the toaster, he said, “I see you two found something that looked comfortable.  Did you put all your clothes in the wash at the same time?”

King nodded slightly.  His voice was much steadier as he said, “I hope that’s okay.  To be honest, I can’t remember the last time those clothes were washed.  I used to help with the laundry, back when we had a machine, so I just started the load.”

“That’s fine, King.  I’m glad you two decided to accept the school’s offer.  Did the rain make the decision for you?”

“It helped,” Rome said.  “The fact that we haven’t eaten since you bought us dinner didn’t hurt, either.”

Carl looked shocked, “That was three days ago.”

King shrugged, “We’ve gone longer before.”

“Not anymore, guys.  The school is going to take care of you now.”

Rome broke down in tears, “Thank you.  Thank you.”

King comforted his cousin as Carl made up some toasted cheese sandwiches and poured two glasses of milk for the boys.  He sat back as they ate, watching the food disappear incredibly quickly.

King looked at the man for a long minute before saying, “Well, I guess we should be getting to the school, then.  We’ve already imposed on you too much.”

Carl shook his head slowly.  “No, I don’t think so.  It would be far too late by the time we got there, and your clothes are still in the wash.  You will most likely want them at school.  Besides, you’re exhausted.  You two take the bed, I’ll sleep out here, then take you to the school in the morning.”

“No,” King said forcefully, “We can’t take your bed.  You’ve been so nice to us.  You take it; we can sleep anywhere.”

“Exactly, so you can sleep in the bed.  I love my couch.  I’ll have no problem sleeping here.”

“…Thank you.  I wish I knew why you were being so nice to us.” King was close to tears as Carl’s kindness continued to be poured out on the boys.

“I remember what it was like, to be where you are.  Just be the best ‘you’ you can be, and we’ll call it even.”

King led Rome back to the bedroom.  To Carl’s surprise, they didn’t close the door, as he thought they would.  The light went out very soon after they entered the room.

Forty minutes later, a low buzzer came from the bedroom, waking the half-dozing man.  He stumbled back to the washer, expecting to see the older boy getting the laundry out of the machine.  When nothing happened, he turned on the bathroom light and found the two boys sound asleep, cuddled up together, with Rome’s head laying on King’s shoulder, and King’s arms wrapped around the younger boy protectively.  Carl smiled at the sight and quickly moved the clothes from the washer to the dryer.  With one last look at the sleeping pair, he returned to the couch and fell asleep.

Carl awoke the next morning to find that the storm had tapered off, and a blanket had been placed over him while he slept.  Looking around, he saw both boys, once again dressed in their own clothes, sitting at the dining table.

“You looked cold, and you’ve done so much for us…”King trailed off, explaining the blanket.

Carl stretched and said with a yawn, “You two eat yet?”

“No, sir,” Rome responded.

The ‘sir’ caused Carl to pause for a minute before saying, “Okay.  Let me get dressed, and we can get breakfast on the way to the school.  What you ate last night is the extent of my cooking prowess.”

Carl entered the bedroom, and was surprised to find the bed made and the clothes borrowed by the boys folded neatly on top of the washing machine.  He performed some basic grooming before returning to find that the boys hadn’t moved from the table.  “You two have to be the best house guests I’ve ever had.  I know for a fact that my bedroom wasn’t that clean yesterday.”

“We didn’t steal anything,” Rome said quickly, looking defensive.

“I know.  I was just trying to say ‘thank you’, not ‘empty your pockets’.  Let’s go.”

Carl drove the boys to the same diner where they had dinner several days before, and enjoyed a warm breakfast.  He then drove them out past the north side of Gotham City, passing through the financial district, Merchant’s Row, and Gotham Heights before winding into the hills.

Just as King was starting to get nervous at the length of their voyage, a large building came into sight.  It was a large, brick and stone structure, vaguely imposing in nature.  Carl spotted the structure and said, “This used to be the old Gotham Sanitarium, long before they built Arkham Asylum.  Mr. Janus bought it and renovated it to become what it is today.  I think you’ll do well here, boys.  I’m glad you chose to come here.”

Carl stopped the car and walked up the front steps, King and Rome following close behind.  Feeling a bit like Willy Wonka, Carl pushed the doors open, then turned to the new students and said, “Welcome, to the Janus School.”


	2. 2

School of Wrong

Chapter 2

 

Over the past few years, Bruce Wayne had attended some absolutely horrible charity events.  The day at the Gotham Zoo in the rain instantly sprang to mind.  Soggy socialites really didn’t smell any better than soggy zoo animals.  The benefit for the failed attempt to create a Cotillion Society in Gotham was right behind the wet day.  However, Bruce could not remember such a dull party happening in his own house.

The highlight of Bruce’s day so far was standing in front of the bay windows and watching the leaves blow slowly across the front lawn while he sipped at his latest glass of whiskey.  All the usual events of a Wayne Foundation charity party had occurred; Alfred’s lunch was fabulous, the Foundation had raised over two million dollars, old Mrs. Haverstad was into her fifth bottle of Gin, and was obscenely drunk.  Everything was the same, but this year’s Fall’s End Party lacked a certain flair for the billionaire.  Unfortunately, he knew exactly what was missing, but it hurt to think that such a small change would affect his outlook so much.

Turning back to the party, Bruce noticed a man making his way over to the isolated host.  A genuine smile worked its way across Bruce’s face as he saw one of the few people invited to the party that he wouldn’t mind spending a few minutes with.  A hand was offered and taken as his guest approached.

Easily the poorest man in attendance, Michael Abbey may have been the only truly self-made man in the room.  He made up for his lack of wealth by being a normal, friendly, worthwhile human being.  He grew up the son of a trash collector who was lucky enough to win two million dollars in the Gotham Lottery.  Instead of blowing it on a redneck, white trash, blue collar fantasy of a bigger trailer and a new Camaro, the man put the money into his only child’s education, allowing Michael to pursue a degree in finance.

After his father’s death, only three years after his windfall, Michael had taken the rest of his inheritance and invested it, turning a little over one million dollars into two hundred eighty million in just ten years.  He then took a portion of that and invested in a controlling interest in an oil company.  Over the past seven years, his net worth had grown to over five hundred million dollars, and he was looking to cross the billion dollar mark just before he retired, several years down the road.  Michael was now called an industrialist, instead of an investor.  Despite his great fortune, Michael and his family still held to their practical, blue collar roots, and the elite of Gotham City were quick to remind them of that.  He was mostly snubbed by the rest of the Elite, but had found open invitations to every Wayne gathering since his family’s debut on the social scene.

Bruce liked the man for his no nonsense ways and down to earth sensibilities, and if he didn’t have to play ‘Brucie’ at parties, he knew he could actually be friends with the man.

“Hello, Mr. Wayne.  Thank you for opening your home for such an…interesting…party.”

Bruce was able to hide most of his smile at that comment, but not all of it.  _Somehow, knowing that Michael Abbey is just as bored with this party as I am makes it more interesting._   “Michael, how many times do I have to tell you?  Call me Bruce.  And, you can stop being so nice, this is a terrible party.  If it wasn’t my house, I would have left about forty-five minutes ago.”

Michael heaved a relieved sigh, “Oh, good.  I was hoping it wasn’t just me.  I was hoping all society events weren’t this dull.”

Bruce laughed at the comment, the first time he had done so at this party.  “Don’t get me wrong, most of them are pretty bad.  My Fall’s End Party is usually better than this, but end of the year events like this do have a tendency to be a bit dull.  Flying solo today?”

Michael nodded as he scanned the party, “Yeah, I let the girls have a pass on this one today.  It’s getting on towards the end of the semester, and the girl’s grades are not where I would like them to be.  If Lisa isn’t watching them, the girls won’t study, so, I’m on my own today.  Speaking of kids, I don’t hear the pitter patter of your little one’s feet.”

Bruce looked at the man strangely, and thought, _I don’t think my ‘little ones’ ever pitter pattered, well, maybe Dick._   He asked with a smile, “Pitter patter?  You are aware that my oldest is twenty-eight, and my youngest is twelve, right?”

Michael returned the smile, “I know, but they’re always your babies, right?”

_The youngest I ever had any of my kids was Dick, when he was eight, and that was only for a couple weeks before his ninth birthday.  Can I really call any of them ‘my babies’?_   Bruce didn’t let the smile slip from his face as he said, “You’re right there, Michael.”

He looked around, then pointed towards the bar.  “Well, Dick’s over by the bar, currently being molested by Mrs. Haverstad.”

Michael looked over to see the old woman holding Dick’s arm with one hand, her other hand resting on his chest as she laughed drunkenly at some remark that Bruce thought couldn’t have possibly been funny to a sober person.  Dick shot Bruce a look that couldn’t have more plainly said ‘help me’.

“You mean Mrs. Have-Another?”

“Thank you, don’t mind if I do,” Bruce responded with the old society joke.  “I see you’re starting to notice the intricacies of society life here in Gotham.”

Michael looked vaguely disgruntled, “So, I’m not the only one to notice.  My wife thought she was so clever when she told me that joke at the Labor Day party.”

“You’re not even the first to make that joke today, Michael.  That one’s been going around since her last stint in rehab, ten years ago.”

The men waved at Dick, who used it as an excuse to escape the old lush.  Michael turned back to Bruce as Dick was working his way over and said, “How about the younger ones?”

The smile finally fell from Bruce’s face as he was confronted with the source of his earlier sadness.  His boys weren’t here, and Bruce missed them.  “They got their own free pass today.”

The man gave a strange, disappointed look and said, “Oh?  That’s too bad.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, I was thinking, our kids are somewhat close in age, and, well…”

Bruce looked shocked, but played it up to make sure the other man knew he was joking around.  “Why, Mr. Abbey, are you trying to hook up my nineteen year old son with your eighteen year old daughter, and your thirteen year old daughter with my twelve year old son?  Or, is it the other way around?”

Michael looked back innocently, with just a hint of a gleam in his eye.  “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do at these society events?  Pimp out our kids to improve our social standing?”

Bruce came dangerously close to shooting very expensive whiskey out of his nose as he laughed at the response loudly.  He slapped the other man on the shoulder and said, “Oh, Michael, you really _have_ learned the intricacies of high society.  Tim and Damian are both studying abroad.”

Michael sipped at his scotch and said slyly, “Well, that’s too bad.  Which one?”

Bruce had to do a double take before he caught what was said.  _God, I have to stay on my toes with this man, I like it._   “What?”

“Which one?  Do they each get their own broad, or do they have to study the same one?”

“I think I can afford to get them their own, and to be honest, they might enjoy the distraction.  If you meant ‘where are they studying’, then Tim is in Switzerland, finishing up some work for his Master’s in Computer Science.  Damian is in France, studying art.”

Michael actually looked shocked.  “Art?  I know I don’t really know him, but I always got the feeling that he was more into sports, or maybe martial arts.”

Bruce gave a small smile, “He is, but you should see his sketchbook sometime.  He could put some of the old masters to shame.”

“You know, my daughter says she never sees him around school.  I know they go to the same school, he’s got to be there somewhere.”

The smile grew broader on Bruce’s face, “Damian is advanced for his age.  He’s already a sophomore in the high school, and that’s only because the school refused to put him more than three grades higher than his age level.”

Michael gave a low whistle, “That’s impressive.  What about Timothy?  You said he was working on a Master’s degree?  At nineteen?”

“He graduated high school two years early, and was taking college classes while in high school.  He had his bachelors a year after high school.  He was on track to have the master’s degree finished at the end of the last school year, but he extended it out to have time to participate in this study abroad program.” Despite missing his sons, talking about their accomplishments with a friendly partner made Bruce feel better than he had all day.

Michael drained his scotch and looked at his watch before saying, “Wow, makes my girls look like slackers.  Well, Bruce, thanks for the invite, but I have to leave.  I’m leaving on a business trip in the morning, and I want to spend some time with the girls before I leave.  Maybe I can influence them a bit with the story of your little overachievers.”

The men shook hands and Michael left as Dick approached with a fresh whiskey for Bruce.  “Make a new friend, Bruce?  Or, maybe an in-law?”

Bruce took a sip and smiled as he said, “Why do I feel like you know exactly what was going on over here?”

Dick smiled back and said, “Because I know exactly what was going on over here.  I spoke to Mr. Abbey earlier.  Think about it, Bruce, it could work out.”

Bruce thought back to the two polite girls Mike Abbey had introduced as his daughters at a summer garden party fundraiser, several months earlier.  While it was completely out of the question, a thought slipped through his parental defenses.  “Maybe for Tim.  I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but it just wouldn’t be fair or nice to subject that sweet little girl to Damian, no matter how much he’s changed lately.”

“Yeah, but Bruce, she already has an in.  She’s…are you telling me that you really don’t know this?” Dick shot Bruce a look of disbelief.

“Don’t know what, Dick?”

A sly grin took over Dick’s face, “Mike Abbey’s youngest daughter’s name?  She’s named Robin, Bruce.”

A matching grin worked its way across Bruce’s face.  “Really?  That could be interesting.”

Dick tapped his glass to Bruce’s and said, “Either way, we can’t bring it up until they get back.”

Bruce took a deep breath and said, “Yeah.  I just hope they’re being safe out there.  I miss them, Dick.”

“Me too, Bruce.  We just have to trust them to be smart enough to not get in any trouble.  They won’t be gone too much longer.  Come on, Alfred’s bringing out the cake.  Let’s get some, so we can start ending this terrible party.”

Bruce nodded absently, his mind still on his sons.  “Yeah, let’s get this over with.  Dick, this party just seemed so empty without them here.  Damian would have complained the whole time, because he would have had to be here, but it would have made it a little interesting.”

“And I could have used Tim as a shield between myself and Mrs. Haverstad.  And, the talk about setting Damian up with Robin Abbey would have embarrassed him, and been fun to watch.”

Bruce sighed, “Come on, let’s get some cake.  We’re just depressing ourselves now.  Maybe Alfred will be able to cheer us up.”

The old butler held out two small plates as his charges approached.  “Gentlemen.  Enjoying yourselves today?”

Bruce grimaced, “Not in the least, Alfred.  The only other remotely interesting person at this party, besides Dick, just left.” Bruce leaned in and whispered to the butler, “How do we get the rest of these…people…out of here?”

“I hesitate to do that, Master Bruce, if only because you will spend the rest of the day in the study pretending to stare at work reports while actually thinking about the boys.”

Bruce gave his oldest friend an understanding look and asked softly, “You, too?”

Alfred closed his eyes for a second before saying, “Cooking for two, and conversation between two, is fine, but pales in comparison to the fullness four can bring to the table.”

Dick looked around before placing a hand on Alfred’s shoulder for a brief second, “We’re all hungry, Alfred, wanting nothing more than to be full again.”

Alfred sniffed slightly before saying, “Well said, young sir, but for now, put a smile back on your faces and go mingle.  It will be over soon enough.”

The original dynamic duo turned back to the party, wondering what could be done to salvage the day.  Unfortunately, they couldn’t think of anything to make it easier, and instead just slogged back into the inanities of the social set.

Mrs. Haverstad and her husband were the last to leave, several hours later, as the old woman was poured into her chauffeured car following her seventh bottle of Gin.  Dick started picking up her empties as something to do to keep his mind off the headache that was forming behind his eyes and said, “Bruce, you need to start buying the cheap liquor.  Maybe she would be less inclined if the bottle just had a plain white label that said Gin, instead of a fancy label saying Beefeaters.”

Bruce smiled grimly, “Dick, so long as it has alcohol in it, she wouldn’t care if the bottle said Blended Rat.”

A smile crossed Dick’s face.  “Okay, how about this: for the spring party, you throw a themed party.  You can call it Hobo Chic, and serve the finest in bargain basement, dollar store liquor.  I’d like to see Mrs. Haverstad put away seven bottles of Mad Dog 2020, or Colt 45.”

“I’m a little worried that you are even aware of the existence of Mad Dog 2020 and Colt 45,” Bruce said warily.

Dick deadpanned, “I was a cop in Bludhaven for five years, remember.  I saw more cans of Colt 45 than I saw Colt .45’s, mostly because it’s easier to get your hands on a Beretta in the hood, and all the homies wanted to cruise with a 9.”

“Dick, sometimes you scare me.”  Bruce walked towards the stairs, tearing his tie from his neck as he went upstairs to take a shower.

“I happen to agree with you, young sir,” Alfred said, entering the room with a broom in hand, “That is why I have been switching labels on the Gin bottles for the past several years.  What dear Mrs. Haverstad has been raving about being her favorite beverage, while touting her incomparable ability to tell true quality from so-called ‘bargain trash’, is nothing more than Costco's own Kirkland Signature Gin.  I save several hundred dollars a party in her beverages alone that way.”

Dick smirked sharply at the butler’s secret.  “Alfred, you never cease to amaze me.  Sometimes, I think you enjoy your little secrets and games that you can play at the expense of these people a little too much.  I just wish I was nine years old again, so I could join you in them all over again.”

Alfred returned the smile, “Well, I needed to make sure you weren’t left out of these fancy gatherings.  I always felt that allowing you to know something that these people, who spent far too much time judging you, didn’t know, would allow you to enjoy the parties just a little more.  It was obvious that these engagements were not easy on you.”

“I never felt left out, even though, sometimes, I wish I could have been left out.  You’re right, elite social gatherings are no place for a child, but you two made them okay.”

“That was our goal, Master Dick.  Now, why don’t you go relax, while I finish up here?”

Dick gave the butler a determined look and said, “…Because helping you clean up after these parties is a tradition.  And, if you want to know _my_ secret, it was always the one part of party days that I looked forward to.  It signaled to me that our life was getting back to where it should have been, if we didn’t have a party, and it let me spend some quality time with the person I felt closest to on party days.  All these years, I still feel like the little circus boy at these things.”

Alfred blinked a couple times, reveling in the secret shared with him.  He placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder and said, “Who am I to stand in the way of tradition?”

 


	3. 3

School of Wrong

Chapter 3

 

“Get off me!  Get off me, damn it…OW!”

A cheer went up from the gathered crowd of students as three of the oldest boys in the school, all several years older than Rome, held him down while a fourth sent another punch to the boy’s face.  Blood now trickled from Rome’s nose, to add to the slow drips from his lower lip and the small cut to his temple.

The fourth teen, obviously the leader of the group, took a step forward and said in a dangerous tone, “No.  You see, you haven’t been here long enough to learn, so we’re going to teach you the way things are done here.  No newbie is going to screw up what we have going on for us here.  _We_ run this place, and we don’t need you coming in and messing with how we do things.”

Rome grew a defiant smirk as he struggled anew against his captors and asked, “Do I threaten you that much?  Is it my fault you’re too stupid to get right answers in class?  They’re not asking you the secrets of the universe here.  Your family tree was a straight line, wasn’t it?”

That remark, which he thought would pass over the head of the bully, earned the boy a shot to the stomach that, if this were after lunch instead of before, would have emptied his stomach violently through his mouth.  As it was, it knocked the wind out of the youth.  He sagged in the tight grip of the three teens, who were laughing at the pained coughs and gagging emanating from the boy.

Sooner than the strutting bully thought possible, Rome gasped out, “Is…that…all you…got?”

The bully turned and almost gasped to see the younger boy struggling against his captors again.  _What is this kid made of?  Those are my strongest punches, and he’s shaking them off.  Was he a punching bag for George Foreman before coming here?_

“Hey!  Let go of him!  Leave him alone!” 

King’s voice echoed through the room and the circle of onlookers split down the middle to let the teen into the middle of the room.  The bullies were startled by the shout.  No one had dared to defy them before; two in one day was unfathomable.  The surprise was enough for Rome to squirm out of the grasp of his captors.  A loud ripping noise followed his escape, and as he quickly scooted away, the remains of his tattered shirt fell to the worn linoleum floor.  One of the bullies stood, staring dumbly at the other half of the boy’s shirt, still clenched in his hand.  With an enraged growl, Rome launched himself at the one holding the torn material.  A general melee broke out, but was over quickly, and the two cousins soon stood victorious over the four bullies, who laid on the floor either groaning in pain or quietly unconscious.

King looked at Rome, then quickly took off his windbreaker and wrapped it around the boy, but not before an audible gasp shot through the room as the other students got a look at the plethora of scars adorning the young boy.  The crowd parted again, leaving plenty of room for the pair to pass through.  Exiting the room, Rome wiped at his nose, then looked up at the taller teen and whined, “That was my only shirt, King.”

Keeping his hands on the younger boy’s shoulders and steering him down the hall, King quickly said, “You can keep the jacket, don’t even worry about that.  We’ll find you something else.  Carl said the school would provide for our needs.  You need a new shirt; we’ll get you one.  Are you alright?”

The boy’s hand sat protectively over his stomach, where it felt to Rome like the bully had tried to reach through him, and grunted out, “I’ve been hit harder.  Not by you, of course, but I’ve been hit harder.”

King shook his head and ruffled the child’s shaggy hair.  As they entered the hallway containing their separate rooms, they were met by Carl, who was leaning against the wall.  He didn’t look at the pair as he said, “You two handle yourselves pretty well; you know that?”

King stepped in front of Rome protectively and said, “What kind of place have you stuck us in?  How is _this_ ,” he gestured to the abused boy behind him, “better than the streets?”

Looking unfazed, Carl picked at a hang nail and said, “The food’s better here than what you can find in the dumpsters, and it’s much warmer inside the building than in the alley.  I told you when you got here, you are free to leave at any time.  You should know, though; it started snowing last night.  He’s going to be awfully cold without a shirt under that windbreaker if you don’t like it here.”  Carl pushed himself off the wall and stood directly in front of King.  “Or, I have a proposition for you.”

“Here we go,” King rolled his eyes, “I knew it would come to something like this.  What now?”

Rome reached out a hand and placed it on King’s elbow, and said in a slightly shaky voice, “Let’s hear him out.  I don’t want to go back to the cold.  I like having a bed again.  We haven’t had those in years.”

King looked back up at Carl, who was staring hard into the teen’s eyes.  “Right now, yes or no, are you happy to be off the streets?”

“Yes…Well, I was, until four teenagers just held down a boy and beat him for no good reason.”  King returned the hard look.

“Yes or no?”

“…Yes,” King said grudgingly, Rome nodded behind the teen.

“Do you feel you’re in a better place than you were a week ago?”

“Yes,” both boys said simultaneously, wondering where this was going.

“If given the chance, would you be willing to…help out…the school, if you were able to?  A way to…give back…a bit of what’s been offered to you?”  Carl seemed to be holding his breath, waiting for this answer.

King and Rome looked at each other and shrugged minutely.  King said, “I-I guess, yes.  Where are you going with this?”

A smile crossed Carl’s face as he released the breath he had been holding.  “I thought you would.  I’m sure I’m right about you two.  I guessed you would say yes, so I already set it up.”

Rome looked confused, “Set what up?”

Speaking to King, Carl said, “Take Rome and get his face cleaned up the best you can, then go to your rooms and get changed.  I thought you would say yes.  There’s new clothes in your rooms.  I hope I got the sizes right.  We can change things out later if I guessed wrong.  As soon as you can, meet me in the mess hall.  I think you two are ready for Vocational Education.”

King entered Rome’s room soon after changing into his new school uniform.  He couldn’t remember seeing anything like what he was wearing on any of the other students he had seen so far, and was still confused with Carl’s cryptic orders.  The only thing he really cared about was that the new clothes were far warmer than the threadbare garments he had been wearing for a very long time.

He stopped just inside the doorway and watched as Rome was staring at himself critically in the mirror, a finger tracing one of the numerous scars on his bare chest.  _I never thought he would be the self-conscious type.  Maybe it’s coming with age?_   King smiled and said in a jovial voice, “Don’t worry, you have a cute little body.  The scars just add a mystique to you, just like the muscles do.”

Rome’s head snapped towards the door, and King could have sworn that there was a hint of a smile playing around the corners of the boy’s mouth before he said, “Please, don’t ever say that again.  That was just a bit too creepy to be coming from you.”

“Sorry,” King entered the room as Rome turned back to the mirror, a scowl forming on the face again, “What’s wrong, Rome?”

Rome answered quietly, looking at the teen’s face over his shoulder in the mirror.  “They all saw my scars out there today, King.”

“Everyone has scars, Rome.  It’s just part of growing up.  Everyone who saw the scars knows how hard it is to grow up on the streets.”

Rome turned his back directly to the older boy, then looked over his shoulder while pointing to a series of raised lines of scar tissue crossing his back.  “Maybe, but there is only one way to get _these_ scars, and everyone knows it.”

King placed a hand lightly on Rome’s shoulder and said softly, “Hey, it’s okay.  It really is.  Everyone has their own story, yours just has a few more chapters.”

“Yeah, but…” Rome trailed off as King pulled his own shirt off.  Turning his back, he revealed his own set of lines crossing his back.  His trail of scar tissue had faded far more than the boy’s, and there were fewer scars, but there was no doubt in Rome’s mind what kind of scars they were.

Rome whispered, “I had no idea.”

King turned to face his cousin again and said, “It’s not something I like to talk about, just like you with yours.”

“Did…”Rome stopped talking, suddenly not wanting to know the answer to the unasked question.

Shrewdly meeting the boy’s eyes and holding the glance for a minute, King said softly, “No.  These happened a long time ago.  Long before…well, you know what it was before.”

Rome sighed in relief at that news.  Pulling their shirts back on, King gave Rome’s face one last check for signs of blood.  He had cleaned the younger boy’s wounds as best he could with only soap and water.  He still had the small cut to his temple, and his lip was swollen, but they managed to get Rome cleaned up.  Finding that there was no resumed bleeding, they left the room and hurried to the mess hall.

Carl was sitting on one of tables in the mess hall when King and Rome entered the room.  He was surrounded by ten other students, all wearing the same school uniforms that King and Rome had found folded on their beds. 

Carl saw the boys approaching and gave a small, satisfied smile.  To the whole group, he said, “Good.  Now that everyone’s here, it’s time for me to say goodbye.  You will be moving on to the Vocational program as soon as you leave this room.  If I see any of you again, it won’t be for a long time.  If you have any personal effects, they are currently being moved to your new rooms on the second floor.  The program you are entering takes place entirely on the second floor of the building, and you will be staying there.  It’s laid out exactly the same up there as down here.  Your classes, dorms, and meals will all be taken care of up there. There is no need to come back to the first floor for any of you.  In fact, I have to warn you; now that you are moving up to the Vocational Program, you are not allowed on the first floor.  We have found that those students that don’t qualify for the Vocational program tend to get a little jealous of those who do.  We’ve had a few…problems…in the past, and it’s really for your safety, and so you can concentrate on the next part of your lives.  Don’t worry, they will keep you so busy up there, you won’t even miss being down here.  Let me introduce you to your program supervisor, Angus Carter.  He will be taking over your education from here on out.”

A thickly-built, ruddy-faced man with dark red hair and a thick Cockney accent entered the room as Carl rose.  “They’re all yours, Angus.”

“Aye, thanks Carl,” the Englishman said as Carl walked out of the mess hall.  “Let’s go, you lot.  You’ve got a lot to cover today.  If you’re smart enough to get here, then you can listen while walking.”

Angus turned on his heel and walked out the same door he entered, a door none of the students had been allowed through before.  The twelve boys followed the man a bit nervously, but hurried to catch up with the man to hear what he was saying.

“You all have been chosen for the Vocational training because, out of all the whelps on that god-forsaken first floor, you twelve have been judged to possibly have a future.  Most of those blokes down there on the first level will amount to little more than prison fillers.  You lot have the brains, and the demonstrated ability, to learn a vocation.  It’s my job to help you along that path, and let me tell you, I won’t brook any slacking in my program.  You’re here because you can work, and you will.”

The group entered an identical mess hall to the one they had left three minutes earlier.  Another group of similarly dressed students were gathered in the center of the room talking as Angus and the new group entered. 

“Oy, you lot, look sharp!” The existing group of students snapped to and formed a line in the middle of the room, falling silent as they watched Angus.

Several of the new students snickered at the reaction.  Angus smirked and said, “You think it’s funny that these boys learned how to pay attention and follow directions?  Give it a week, and all of you will be falling in line as well.  If you don’t, there is always the remedial program on the first floor.  Believe me, you can be back there in a second.  To help you get adjusted to the program, and get up to speed with how things work up here, you all have been paired with one of the existing students.  They will teach you the finer points of the program, and they will be your new roommates.”

Angus quickly paired the new students with the old, and then they were off again.  Angus provided a whirlwind tour of the second floor, which was mostly unnecessary, because the layout was exactly the same as the first floor.  The only two things the new students learned was what was taught in each classroom, and that Angus was a no-nonsense man.

The new students were allowed a whole five minutes to find their new rooms and have a short introduction to their new roommates before it was back to the mess hall for lunch.  The affair was far different than what they had become accustomed to on the first floor.  The staff ran the hall with a military-like precision.  Everything was done just so.  The new students fell in line with varying degrees of success, but by the end of the third day, all twelve new students were able to snap to like they had been doing it for years.

Classes were rigorous for the new students.  Unlike on the first floor, where the students were taking Math, English, and History, students on the second floor were learning skills that could set them up for real-world jobs.  While first floor students took Math, second floor students learned how to use cash registers, credit card readers, and how to keep financial record books.  While first floor students took English and Literature, second floor students learned the finer points of customer service, interaction strategies for management and employee communication, and how to read and write for business.  While students studying on the first floor learned History, second floor students learned about professional markets, and how the changing consumer attitudes influenced products and services.

Carl didn’t lie.  The new students were kept so busy that they soon forgot the building had any other floors.  In fact, they were so busy that King and Rome didn’t see each other for the entire first week of their Vocational Education.  Rome was so happy to learn that they were going to be given a day off when he woke up on that Sunday, that all he could do was smile at his roommate, roll over, and go back to sleep.

A hissed argument woke the boy a while later.  In his half asleep state, he couldn’t imagine what was going on behind him, and he didn’t really care, so long as they kept it down.

“Hey, what are you doing in here?  Leave the kid alone.  This kind of stuff isn’t allowed up here.”

A familiar voice replied, “Will you relax, it’s not what you think.”

A smile crossed Rome’s face as his roommate said, “Get out of here, will ya?  You’re going to wake him up.  He needs to sleep, he’s done some hard work this week.”

“It’s okay, Tommy,” Rome said, his back still turned to the room, “He’s not going to do anything.  I told you about my cousin, right?  That’s him.”

Rome could hear a smile in Tommy’s voice, “Oh, well, why didn’t you say so?  So you’re the King I’ve heard so much about?”

“Nice to meet you, Tommy.  Now, can I spend some time with my cousin?  I haven’t seen him in a week.”

Tommy obviously nodded, because Rome didn’t hear an answer to the question.  Instead, his bed dipped, and he could feel extra body heat soaking into his back.  King had laid down on the bed, behind Rome.  He stared at the ceiling as he folded his hands behind his head.

Nothing was said for a minute, until King opined softly, “You know what?  I think your bed is more comfortable than mine.  That’s not fair.”

A sound King hadn’t heard his cousin make in several years floated from the youth’s throat, as he laughed softly at the remark.  A genuine smile worked its way across King’s face at the joyful noise. 

“They know which of us has more potential, that’s why I got rewarded with the comfy bed.  I missed you this week, even though I didn’t have much time to do it.”

“Me too, kid.  Tell me, what’ve you been up to?  Learn anything new?”

Rome rolled onto his back, his head coming to rest on King’s arm.  “It seems like a lot of common sense, basic stuff, but I guess it’s all necessary for getting a job, right?”

King nodded and said, “You know, common sense isn’t all that common.  Learn anything fun?”

King didn’t have to see the boy’s face to know he was smiling.  “Yeah.  They started me on some home improvement stuff.  How to use tools, basic home repair, simple wiring, plumbing repair.  The really interesting thing was locksmithing.  We got to take apart door locks to see how they worked.  All the little parts inside were really cool.” Rome looked over at his roommate, who was reading a book, before saying softly, “I know I tried to pick a few locks while we were on the streets, and I couldn’t do it before.  But, now that I’ve seen how they work, I think I could do it now.”

Unseen by either of our two cousins, Tommy smiled.  Before being assigned to one of the new students as a preceptor, the older students had been told to listen for comments like the one Rome had just made.  The teachers wanted to know if any of the new students felt like they were getting a handle on their subject matter.  Hearing Rome now, Tommy figured he would be the first of this batch to make a positive report.

“What have they had you doing, King?”

King turned his head to look at his cousin.  He couldn’t really see the boy’s face, as his shaggy hair covered most of it.  “Oh, mostly the same stuff you’re doing, but instead of locksmithing and home repair, they have me working on automotive repair.  I like it, it’s kind of calming, in a way.  Hey, I think I figured out where you were going wrong with trying to pop the lock on Carl’s car.  I don’t think the coat hanger was long enough.”

Rome sighed, “Well, we don’t have to worry about that anymore.” Rome sat up and looked at the older boy and said in an unsure voice, “We _don’t_ have to worry about that anymore, do we King?”

“I want to say no, but, maybe, just in case, it might be something you might want to possibly learn and remember.  You never know when any skill will be needed.  Dad always used to tell me that.”

A second straight week of packed, intense training left all twelve new recruits exhausted, but also feeling like they were making progress.  It was another six days before King and Rome saw each other again.  This time Rome snuck into King’s room.  There was no protest from King’s roommate as the boy slipped silently into the dorm.  In fact, King’s roommate didn’t even know Rome was there until he heard the springs creak in King’s bed, as Rome tried to lay down quietly next to his cousin.

“I don’t like that this is the only time we get to see each other anymore, Rome,” King mumbled blearily.  Unlike his roommate, King had woken up as soon as the door opened.

“Sleep, King.  I’m still tired, and I don’t think you’re actually awake right now.”

The bed was moving a little strangely for the boy to just be settling in.  “Are you okay, Rome?”

Rome answered hesitantly, “Um…I think you were right.  My bed _is_ more comfortable.”

King turned over and looked at the smaller boy intently, “Rome, you’re shaking.  Did you have a bad dream?”

Rome nodded, not wanting to voice his admission.  King pulled the child in closer, resting the boy’s head on his chest.  He whispered, “It’s okay, I’m right here.  I’m not going to let anything happen to you.  Do you want to talk about it?”

A shake of the head against his chest was the only answer given.  King nodded, throwing a blanket over Rome.  Several minutes later, he realized that the boy had fallen asleep.  Giving a content smile, King combed his fingers through his cousin’s long hair, wiping it away from the child’s peaceful face, before closing his eyes and returning to sleep.

An hour later, both boys were awakened when Rome tried to roll over in his sleep and ended up on the floor next to the narrow bed.  King couldn’t help but chuckle at the confused look on Rome’s face as the child sat up.  The confused look morphed into an embarrassed smile as he got up and sat on the edge of the bed.

“You feel better now, Rome?”

Rome nodded and said quietly, “Yeah.  Thanks King.  I don’t know where that came from.  I haven’t had a bad dream in a while.”

“I know.  How about we go get some breakfast and try to forget about it?”

Rome looked back at his cousin as the older boy sat up.  “That sounds good…Hey, King?  Didn’t you shower last night?”

King looked confused, “Yeah, I did.  Why do you ask?”

Rome slowly turned his head to the side as he stared at the teen’s face, as if trying to identify what he was seeing.  “I think you missed something, then.  You have some dirt on your lip.”

King caught Rome’s hand as the boy reached up to try and rub the mark off.  With a smile, King said, “It’s not dirt.  I just thought I would try a moustache, see if it works.”

Rome looked even more confused, “Why?”

“Dad had one, remember?  I just wanted to see if it would look good.  I can always shave it off later if I don’t like it.”

Still staring at the pencil-thin line of dark hair on the teen’s upper lip, Rome slowly stood up and took a step back to allow King to get out of bed.  King smiled as they exited the room, “Rome, it’s still me.  I just have a little more hair on my face than I did before.”

“Why don’t you try growing it on the top of your head first?  You’ve been shaving that for years.”

King shrugged, “Eh, I might.  But, you have to admit, my hair is easier to care for than yours.”  King ran his hand over the boy’s head, sending the shoulder-length dark hair cascading over Rome’s face.

A short laugh sprang from the boy as they walked towards the mess hall.  Just outside the door to the bustling chow hall, King stopped and asked, “Truthfully, what do you think, Rome?”

Rome gave his cousin an appraising look before saying, “Truthfully?  It’s not you.”

King smiled, “Give it time, it’ll grow on you.”

Rome’s jaw dropped as King walked into the mess hall.  Snapping out of the shocked realization that his cousin had just made a joke, Rome couldn’t control the laugh that slipped out of his mouth a second later.  “Funny,” he called out dryly, following the teen into the food line.

Forty minutes later, King and Rome were finishing their breakfast in the now mostly empty commissary.  As King gathered their trays to clear the table, Angus and an unfamiliar man entered the hall and walked straight up to the boy’s table.  The new man had a military-style crew cut, and was wearing old fatigues, with the identifying patches removed.

“Morning, boyos,” the Englishman said genially, “Done with breakfast yet?”

“Yes sir,” King said as he cleared the trays.

Both boys stood as Angus continued, “Good.  I want you two to meet someone.  This here is one of our instructors, John Rodgers.  He’s here to evaluate your performance.”

“Performance in what, sir?” Rome asked.

A hint of a smirk crossed Angus’ lips as he said, “You two have progressed farther and faster than any students we’ve had in the past.  Your roommates have given us impressive reports of how you work and how much you’re learning.  You can call this a ‘midterm exam’, I guess.”

John took a step forward.  “I need to see for myself if the rumors are true, so we’ve set up a little test for you.  It will involve most of the skills you have learned from us in the past few weeks so far.  It’s very important that you pass, both for your advancement in the school, and your personal safety.”

“Our personal safety?” King asked.

John ignored the question.  He tossed a small, rolled pouch at Rome.  “Open it,” he said.  Rome unrolled it and found a set of professional grade lock picks and locksmith tools as John continued.  “You told your cousin that you felt you could pick a lock, now that you know how they work.”

Rome looked up at the man, “I-I _think_ so, but…I’ve never even seen tools like these before.  I don’t know how to work them.”

“You’ll learn, and quickly, I think.”

John tossed another pouch at King, who caught it deftly.  When John nodded, King opened his pouch and saw a set of small tools.  King looked back up as John said, “You said you felt good working with your hands.  We’ll find out.  Follow me.”

John led the boys out of the mess hall and into a section of the building they had never entered.  He took them to a small office-like room, making sure to lock the door behind him after all four had entered.  Turning back to the boys, John said, “On the other side of that door behind you is a car.  Inside the car is a small bomb.  Nothing too big or dangerous, but a bomb none the less.  I would say it’s just big enough to take out these two rooms.  It shouldn’t bother the rest of the school, or damage the building too much, but none of us would have a very good day if it were to go off.  Your job is to get into the room and disarm the bomb.”

King and Rome looked at the man with matching, horrified expressions on their faces.  John expected nothing less, and secretly reveled in the terror he was causing the boys.

King took a small step forward and said hesitantly, “W-we…We don’t kn-now _how_ to disarm a bomb!”

John nodded, “I expected as much, which is why I’m going to tell you how.  All you need to do is get in that room, get to the bomb, and cut the blue wire.  You have everything you need in those toolkits I gave you.  Oh, by the way, you have two minutes before the bomb goes off, starting,” John took a small device from his pocket and made a show of pressing a button, which gave a quiet beep, “now.”

Eyes wide, the boys ran to the door.  Trying the handle, Rome turned to King and screeched out, “It’s locked!”

“Well, pick it.  He gave you lock picks, and you said you could do it!”

“I’ve never used lock picks before,” the boy shouted hysterically.

“Just try something,” King answered, just as hysterically.

Fumbling with the unfamiliar tools, Rome took his best guess.  He worked a toothed instrument in and felt the first pin lift out of the way.  A small smile crossed his lips as he learned by doing.  Soon, he had the second pin, then the third.  On a hunch, he grabbed a second follower and fed it into the cylinder.  Still working the pins out of the way, he began to sweat, figuring he was taking too much time. 

As John said, “One minute,” Rome tried turning the cylinder.  It slowly rotated in its housing, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the deadbolt slid back into the door.

King ripped the door open, knocking Rome over in the process.  The teen was frantic, looking for the bomb, as Rome joined him.  King was muttering, “Find the bomb, find the bomb, find the bomb.”  He finally called out, “What’s it look like?”

John answered, “It looks like you have about thirty seconds left to figure that out.”

Fortunately, the car was unlocked.  The boys didn’t have the time for Rome to figure out how to pick car door locks.  Rome was crawling under the car, looking for blue wires, while King searched the inside.  Finding nothing, he hit the button to open the trunk and ran to the back of the car.  He heard the hood release as he rounded the back of the vehicle, and took a second to glance towards the front of the car.  If time wasn’t such a factor, he would have stopped to laugh as he saw Rome’s feet sticking out from the engine compartment.

Looking in the trunk, King saw what he was looking for, a box with a blue wire and a red wire.  Grateful, he upended his toolkit into the trunk, looking for anything with which to cut the wire.  He grabbed the small pair of pliers and found a wire cutter end built in to the tool.  As quickly as he could, he cut the blue wire and winced as the internal countdown he had been doing since John’s last announcement reached zero.

Nothing happened.

King dropped the tool, shouted, and nearly jumped out of his shoes as John’s hand landed suddenly on his shoulder.  “Good job, you two.  You passed.”

Rome came running around the car and plastered himself to King’s side as relief flooded both of them.  John looked at the device as he pulled a black duffel bag from the trunk.  Looking closer, he smiled and said, “You weren’t nervous or anything, were you?”

Slightly out of breath, King asked, “Why…do you…say that?”

“You cut the wire three times.  Once was enough to break the circuit.”

King blushed a little as he said, “Well, I just wanted to make sure.  I don’t want to get blown up.”

“Wait here, boys.”

John took the bag with him and walked into the other room.  King and Rome could hear John and Angus speaking in low tones for several minutes before both men walked back into the room and stood before the boys.

Rome sounded a bit nervous as he asked, “We passed, right?  What does that mean?”

Smiling again, John unzipped the bag.  Reaching inside, he pulled out two gray, full-face helmets.  Tossing one to each boy, he waited while the youths looked the headgear over.  When he had their attention again, John said, “Welcome to the advanced program.”

 

**A/N:  Yes, I realize that I ended this chapter almost exactly the same way I ended chapter 1.  It’s not really intentional, but I think it works.  I had one good guess today of what’s going on, but a couple more from readers saying they’re not quite sure yet.  Reading closely, this chapter should have lifted some of the confusion.  If not, then chapter 4 should, and chapter 5 will reveal everything, for those who still don’t get it.**

**Many of my stories have had the same comments made about them; “Good story, but where’s Jason?”  Frankly, I’m a bit tired of it.  He’s not my favorite character, so I don’t include him much.  I bring this up now because of the conversation from chapter 2, where Bruce only mentions having three sons at the party.  This was done intentionally, and for good reason.  As far as the upper crust of Gotham society is concerned, Jason is dead.  How exactly would Bruce explain having a son who was reported dead, buried on the manor grounds, suddenly show up at a party?  He couldn’t even be mentioned in conversation, because it would raise too many questions.  How did he survive?  Why isn’t he at the party?  Why isn’t he living at the manor?  Where is he?  For ‘party Bruce’, it’s just easier to let Jason remain dead.**

**However, for the Jason fans out there (which I am not one), Jason will make several appearances in School of Wrong, starting with chapter 4.  I hope you’re happy.**


	4. 4

School of Wrong

Chapter 4

 

Batman sat at the computer console in the cave following tonight’s patrol.  The vigilante was tired and frustrated.  His patrol had been mostly fruitless tonight.  One drug dealer and one minor smash and grab were the only successes he could count on his record tonight.

He had been called to four separate robberies in the space of ten minutes, but had been too late to do more than investigate the scenes afterward, before the police showed up.  There had been precious little evidence left at any of the crime scenes, so Batman had turned them over to the police and gone in search of active crimes.

Each of the crimes had unfolded exactly the same.  Two gray jumpsuit-clad people wearing full-face helmets held up the stores, emptied the registers and grabbed small items near the door, then left within four minutes of entering the store.  By the time the alarms were activated and responded to, the perpetrators were long gone.  Each report gave exact same descriptions of the criminals and turned over security camera footage of the robbers.  All of the robbers were below average height and weight for your average stick-up man, and the few who spoke during the commission of the crimes did so in higher than expected voices.  The police had two theories; either the gang was entirely female, or entirely children.  The Police were hesitant to run with the all children theory, because all of the crimes were well-executed, timed, and carried out with a precision one would expect from a career criminal with years of practice and experience.

Batman had yet to come across any of these crimes in progress, but he had heard about each and every one from the Commissioner.  The ‘Rob and Run Gang’, as the media were calling them, seemed to have a lookout, or a communication system in place, to ensure that the city’s caped vigilantes were not in the vicinity of any crimes.  Batman and Nightwing had started taking separate patrol routes, in the hopes of covering more ground, and possibly catching at least one group of criminals in the act.

Bruce removed the cowl as the computer beeped at him.  He looked up at the screen to see a map of the cave projected, with a blinking red dot approaching from the cave mouth.  _Ah, Nightwing is back.  I wonder if he had a more productive night than I did._  

Bruce took a closer look at the screen as the dot stopped halfway down the tunnel.  It was stationary long enough that Bruce thought the tracker had malfunctioned, or fallen off of whatever part of his uniform Nightwing was currently carrying his tracker.  Out of curiosity, Bruce clicked on the blinking dot and read the information that popped up on screen.  His jaw dropped as he stared at the screen, and he was so distracted that he didn’t notice the dot was moving again.  He stared until he heard a motorcycle engine shut down behind him, before he turned around with a dumbfounded grin, and whispered, “I don’t believe it.”

Red Hood dismounted his motorcycle and removed his helmet.  Hanging it on the handlebar of the bike, Jason stalked forward and all but yelled at Bruce.

“What kind of games are you playing, old man?”

 

Bruce’s jaw snapped shut, and he was taken aback at the hostile greeting.  Before he could say anything, Jason continued, “You want to see me, you grow a pair and come see me yourself.  Don’t send your halflings into my territory to do your bidding when it comes to me.”

“Jason, what are you…” Bruce was cut off by the sound of a metal tray crashing to the ground.  Alfred had brought a tray of snacks, which now littered the floor of the cave, as the old butler was startled by Jason’s appearance in the cave.  Walking slowly up to the younger man, Alfred had a disbelieving, yet ear to ear, grin as he said, “Master Jason?  My, this is quite a surprise, my boy.”  The butler hugged the man, almost against his will, as he said, “It’s been so long, young sir.”

“Hi, Alfred,” Jason said, with the first warmth Bruce had heard in the former Robin’s voice in many years.

“To what do we owe this great pleasure, young man?” The butler took a step back, taking in the man before him.

As Jason opened his mouth to reply, Dick returned from his own patrol, walked up behind Jason, and slapped him on the shoulder, saying, “Hey, little brother.  I didn’t expect to see you until Saturday.”

“You what?” Jason sputtered, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

“I was going to come see you Saturday.  Carved out the time and everything, just for you.”

Jason’s jaw sagged, as he looked at his older brother in disbelief.  “What, am I in your day planner or something?”

Dick gave a big smile and said, “Yep, with smiley faces and hearts around your name and everything.”

“You’re a strange one, Big Bird.”

Bruce smiled at the interaction, not realizing how much he missed these two bantering back and forth.  His smile soon slipped, as he realized he was not welcomed or included in the familial sentiments being batted back and forth in his cave.

Jason looked over at Bruce and caught the sad smile, and interpreted its meaning correctly.  An unexpected pang of guilt and longing assaulted him for a brief second, but it was banished from his body when one word flashed across his mind, Joker.  Jason didn’t want to feel vulnerable like that again; he wasn’t ready for it yet.  Instead, he wiped the smile from his face and got down to business.

“Since we seem to be having a family reunion, you should really bring out the Replacements.  They might enjoy what’s coming up.”

Bruce gave a strange look that Jason couldn’t quite interpret.  Dick caught the look and spoke up from next to Jason.  “They’re not here, Jay.”

“I know they’re _not here_ ,” Jason drew air quotes around the last two words, “but bring them out.  I owe them a little something.”

_Why am I concerned about that,_ Dick thought, his eyes flashing to Bruce.

Bruce took a step forward and said, “Jason, Tim and Damian are overseas, studying abroad.  They’ve been gone since right after Damian’s birthday last month.”

Jason gave Bruce a hard look, trying to determine if that was the truth.  Unable to decipher the inscrutable look he was receiving, Jason said, “Bullshit, Bruce.  They’re _here_.  Why are you covering for them, unless…of course.  _You_ sent them, didn’t you?  What, are you testing me?  I’m not one of your protégés anymore, Bruce, you don’t get to do that.”

Bruce took another step forward, reading the confusion and hurt leaking through Jason’s tough façade.  “Jason…”

“ _Don’t lie to me, damn it_ ,” Jason interrupted, his voice rising in volume and tone.  “I deserve better than that.”

Bruce took a deep breath before saying, “Jason, why don’t you start from the top, okay?  Tell us why you’re looking for your brothers.”

Jason bristled at the description of Replacement and Demon Brat as his brothers.  He said in a quiet tone, “Is that how you really want to play this, Bruce?  Fine, let’s start from the top.  I was out, patrolling _my territory_ , staking out a liquor store.  I had a tip that a dealer was selling to kids from the store.  I was going to _remind_ him that is not allowed in my part of town.  I’m waiting, and these two kids in gray jumpsuits and masks run into the store and stick it up.  I drop down to show them the error of their ways, and to scare the shit out of them, as an added bonus for me.  Not only weren’t they scared, they fought back.”

Dick spoke up, “…And, during the fight, they just happened to whisper to you and tell you who they were, under the masks?  Were you able to unmask one or both of them during the fight?”

Jason rolled his eyes, fuming at being interrupted.  He growled, “They didn’t say a word; they didn’t have to.  It was all in how they fought.  It’s like they were taking it straight from chapter one of the Robin manual.  Each move, in order, exactly as you taught us.  It took me a minute to realize it, but when I did…well, it really pissed me off that you would do that, Bruce.  We had an agreement; there’s no reason for you to try to muscle in on my territory.”

“How did it end,” Bruce asked in a strained voice, surprising Jason.

Jason looked away and said quietly, “They got away.”

Bruce gave a relieved smile and released the breath he had been holding.  “You let them go?”

“I did _not_ let them go,” Jason said, indignant.  “That little bas…Demon Brat threw a cheap shot, and they ran off while I was…recovering.”

Dick saw the way Jason’s hand had unconsciously gravitated towards his waist and smiled.  “I take it that move wasn’t from chapter one?”

Jason caught his older brother’s smile and grimaced as he blushed.  “No, not chapter one,” he grumbled.

Dick winced, “Foot?” he asked.”

Jason winced at the remembered pain and said, “Knee.”

Dick gave a sharp inhalation, threw an arm around Jason’s shoulders, and said with a laugh, “Ooh, ouch.  Alfred, can we get a bag of ice for Little Wing, please?”

“It’s not funny, Dickhead,” Jason said, throwing the arm off his shoulders.

Bruce, still out of the loop, asked, “What’s not funny?”

Dick turned to their father and said, “Depending on what kind of mood Little D was in, you might want to not expect grandchildren from your second son.”

Jason bristled and shot Dick an angry look at the description of himself as Bruce’s son.  Bruce drew closer to Jason, trying to hide his grin.  When he was within arm’s reach, Bruce stopped and asked, “Are you absolutely sure it was them?”

“Oh yeah, it was them,” Jason said quietly, dangerously, “Where are they?  I want to give them my thanks for a great evening, maybe even return the thoughtful gesture I was given.”

In a move faster than Jason was expecting, Bruce dragged Jason into a tight embrace and whispered tearfully in his ear, “Thank you, Jason.  Thank you so much.”

Jason was so shocked by the surprise hug that he just stood there in the embrace for a second, soaking in old memories from when this was all he wanted out of life.  Reality set in quickly, and Jason realized what was happening.  He pushed Bruce back violently and exclaimed, “Get off me!  What’s going on here, Bruce?”

Bruce looked into Jason’s eyes with true hurt in his eyes, even though he knew he shouldn’t have expected anything else from his lost son.  Bruce stepped back and said, “Come.  Sit down.  I’ll tell you everything.”

Jason hesitated for a second as Bruce started to walk away.  He turned back to see Jason standing still and said, “It’s important, Jason.  Please.”

Dick wrapped an arm around Jason’s shoulders again and walked his brother towards the computer, where Bruce was calling up a loop of security camera footage clips showing dozens of similar robberies to the one Jason had described.  Jason watched the clips for several seconds before sitting down.  Bruce smiled when Jason sat down, even if Dick had to direct him to a chair.

“Before we start, do you want that ice?  Damian has some sharp knees, and one of them is metal,” Bruce asked with a smile.

Jason did not return the smile as he crossed his arms over his chest.  “Just get on with it, so I can get out of here.”

Bruce sighed and said, “That _was_ Tim and Damian you fought tonight, but I didn’t send them after you.  Three months ago, I became aware of a string of robberies being committed.  It started with one a night, then escalated to two, then three.  Now, it’s four a night, every night, and all timed to within a couple minutes of each other, and far enough apart in the city that it can’t possibly be the same people every robbery.  I started thinking gang initiation, but then I saw this.”

Bruce stopped the video loop and brought up a picture from a news website.  The headline read ‘Janus School takes in 100th Orphan.’  Jason studied the picture, naturally falling into the rhythm of one of Bruce’s briefings.

“Okay, what does a charity piece have to do with sending your minions to attack me?” Jason asked, truly interested, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

Bruce smirked as he zoomed in on the background of the picture.  “Take a look at this.  Wouldn’t you say the uniforms those kids are wearing in the background look an awful lot like what you saw tonight?”

Jason looked closer, thinking back on what he saw tonight.  “Now that you mention it, yes,” Jason said grudgingly.

Bruce continued, “I did a little digging, and found out that the Janus School isn’t pulling from orphanages or group homes.  Ninety percent of their students came straight from the streets.  Noble gesture, maybe, but what else are you likely to get with street kids?”

“Criminal tendencies,” Jason said, pointedly trying not to remember his first meeting with Batman, all those years ago, when young street kid Jason was caught trying to steal the wheels from the Batmobile.

Bruce met Jason’s look, a small smile starting to form as he had the same memory.  “Or, at least, those desperate enough to do anything for a hot meal and a warm, dry bed.  I sent Tim and Damian in, to see if I could get someone on the inside.  We…we lost contact with them three weeks ago, when they almost had their cover blown, right before that big storm.”

Alfred spoke up, shocked, “You never told me that, Master Bruce.  I would have been more careful.”

“It wasn’t you, Alfred.”

Dick looked confused, “Keeping secrets again, Bruce?”

Bruce sighed and said, “Alfred was checking on the boys every few days.  He would drive through their general area.  If everything was okay, they would approach the car and try to panhandle.  If not, they would give a distress sign, and I would extract them that night.”

Jason interrupted, “Wait a minute.  You actually sent your _sons_ to live on the streets of Gotham in late fall and early winter?  You could have been signing their death certificates, you know.”

Bruce closed his eyes and said, “They could have said no.  I told them that I didn’t think this would be a safe assignment, that they would be on their own and only able to use the bare basics of their training to survive.  They knew what they were getting into.  They’re tougher than you give them credit for.”

“For your sake, I hope so,” Jason grumbled quietly.

“I set up a private voicemail, only Tim and I knew the number.  Damian doesn’t even know that Tim was able to give me short updates…”

Dick looked shocked, “You never told me that.  Do you know how much I’ve missed hearing their voices?”

Bruce looked to Alfred and said, “Shortly after the last time you saw them, Leslie drove by.  You know she has a habit of keeping care packages in her car during fall and winter to give to the homeless.  She saw you give a couple dollars to Damian while she was stopped at a red light, half a block away, and stopped when she got to where she saw you stop.  The boys were on their own, cold, hungry, so they took the care packages.  I got a…a rather _interesting_ phone call that night from Leslie.  I had to bring her in on the operation.  I’ve never heard her so upset.  I checked the voicemail right after she hung up on me, and Tim had left a message telling me they were moving areas after Leslie almost blew the plan.

“That was the last I had heard from them until tonight.  Until they came and found you, Jason, I didn’t know if my boys were dead or alive.  I hoped that they didn’t get caught in that storm, and I started losing hope the longer I went with no word.  You have no idea how grateful I am to you right now, Jason.”

Silence reigned for several minutes as Bruce smiled gently at Jason.  Alfred wiped his eyes surreptitiously.  Finally, Jason said, “So…What, then?”

Bruce’s smile grew, “They attacked you, knowing you would come straight here and yell at me, and I would know that they were alive and in place at the school.  Now, we have to wait for more intel to come in.”

Jason shot to his feet, “No, Bruce.  I’m not acting as your go-between.  Find some other way.  Your little Brat gets within arm’s reach of me again, I’ll shoot him.  I’ll shoot the Replacement just on principle.”

“I’m not asking you to, Jason,” Bruce said, rising, “You’ve done more than enough tonight, just by bringing me the news that they are alive and okay.  Tim will find another way to get in contact with us, we just have to give him time.”

After a short, tense silence, where Jason and Bruce stared at each other, trying to judge intent, Jason said, “Well, I did what I came to do.”

Jason turned to leave as Bruce held out a hand to his escaping son, and Alfred and Dick stood as well.  “Jason!  Wait, please.  Stay?  Please?”

Jason stopped at the pleading tone in Bruce’s voice.  After all these years, that tone still had the power to make him feel like a little boy again.  While he was conflicted, Bruce pressed forward, “I…I won’t talk to you, if that’s what you want, or even see you, but please, stay.  At least for the night.  Give Alfred a chance to make you a big breakfast.  You know Dick will just follow you if you leave.”  Bruce’s tone grew more desperate, and he threw all caution to the wind, “Jason, please.  Just for tonight.  If you never do anything for me again, if I never see or talk to you again, please, let me have just this one night, where I know that all four of my boys are safe.”

When Jason said nothing for several minutes, tears started working their way down Bruce’s face.  Alfred tried his hand at persuasion, his heart breaking for his oldest charge.  “You must be hungry, Master Jason.  I believe I have a few butterscotch cookies left upstairs.”

Dick took a half step forward and said softly, “Come on, little brother, it’ll be like old times.  Your room is just like you left it, and I might even have a surprise for you.”

“It will always be your room, Jason,” Bruce said, “It will always be there for you when you want it.”

Just as the family was losing hope, Jason, still with his back to everyone, cocked his head in the direction of Alfred’s voice and asked, “Butterscotch cookies?”

Alfred stepped forward, stopping two steps behind the man.  “Yes, my boy, and maybe a nice sandwich to go with them?  I have some honey ham and an excellent provolone, but you need to change first.  You just go shower, I’ll have everything ready for you when you get out.”

Jason stopped at the door to the locker room and called over his shoulder to the man whose eyes he could feel on his back, “I’m not doing this for you, Bruce.  I missed dinner tonight, and I’m hungry.”

Several minutes later, Bruce saw a sight he thought he would never behold again.  Jason, in pajamas, walking willingly towards the stairs with Alfred.  He overheard Jason talking to the butler.

“Why do you still have butterscotch cookies?  I thought I was the only one here who liked them, and I haven’t been here in over a year.”

“You may be surprised to know that Master Damian has taken quite a liking to them.  In fact, it may be the only area I have seen where his tastes differ from Master Dick’s.”

Jason felt Bruce’s eyes following him across the cave.  He stopped and called out, “Don’t worry, old man.  I’m leaving first thing in the morning.”

Bruce gave a small smile, “I have an early meeting; I can give you a lift into town if you like.  If you are determined to not see me, you can always sleep in and have that big breakfast.  Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I’ll sleep in,” Jason said before disappearing up the stairs.

As he watched Jason go, a rock fell into his stomach again and he said, “Dick.”

“Yeah, Bruce?”

“I don’t need to see you at the office tomorrow.  Spend some time with him.  I want you to make sure he’s okay.  If he needs anything, you get it for him.  Use my charge card.  Anything he wants.”

Dick placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder and said, “Bruce, you know he wants nothing to do with you.  I can’t believe he agreed to stay the night, personally.  You know he won’t accept anything if he knows you got it for him.  I’ll use my card, and give you the statement when it comes in.”

An hour later, Dick slipped silently into Jason’s room.  Tiptoeing towards the bed, Dick didn’t even make it halfway before he heard a grumpy grumble from his younger brother.

“Give me one reason not to shoot you, Big Bird.”

Smiling, Dick said quietly, “I’ll give you two.  One, if you shoot me, you won’t get the surprise I promised you.  Two, no matter how much you hate Bruce, you would never bring a gun into the manor.  You left them down in the cave, even your back-up.”

“I don’t hate Bruce,” the half-asleep vigilante let slip out before sitting bolt upright in the bed, embarrassed at letting that little secret slip.

“Really?” A bright smile lit up Dick’s face, easily visible in the darkened room.  “You sure do a good imitation of it.”

_Damn it, Dick, making me think about things this late at night, when I was already almost asleep._   “What do you want from me, Dick?  I’ve come to peace with the fact that Bruce isn’t going to change who he is enough to violate such a deep-seated principle of his, even for one of us.  Just because I accept that fact, doesn’t mean I want to come back and have some tearful reunion, just to be reminded that his principles were more important to him than me.”

Dick sat down on the edge of the bed and said, “It doesn’t have to be a tearful reunion, but can’t it just be a reunion?  You said staying here tonight wasn’t for him.  I don’t believe you.”

Jason rolled over and said, “Go to bed, Dick.  You’ve obviously been awake too long if your thought process is that confused.”

Dick smiled, laid down in the bed, and pulled the blankets over himself.  “Okay.  Whatever you say, little brother.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason growled, “I meant in _your_ bed, jerk.”

Playing innocent, Dick said, “You mean you want to come to my room?  We can do that.  We haven’t had a sleepover in my room in years.”

Jason whined, “It’s late, Dick.  Can’t you just shut up, so I can get some sleep and get out of here in the morning?”

“Um, I’m thinking ‘no’.  Why are you really staying here tonight?”

“If you keep talking, I _won’t_ stay here tonight”

Dick rolled over to face Jason’s back.  “You can fool them, Jay, but you can’t fool me.  Admit it, you want to be here.  Admit it, and I’ll give you your surprise.”

Jason sighed, then whispered, “Fine.  You want to know why I stayed?  I’ll tell you.  I keep track of you, all of you.  I need to know what’s happening in the rest of Gotham to know how to protect my territory.  Batman’s been…off…lately.  He’s still Batman, but only those who know him would be able to tell that something is wrong.  I can tell.  I haven’t seen him like this before.  It’s…concerning.”

Dick gasped quietly before saying.  “You aren’t the only one to notice.  Unfortunately, I’ve seen him like this before.  Just once, about six years ago.”

Jason was quiet for a minute while he thought about what was happening six years ago.  _I was still Robin six years ago, how did I not notice anything?  Did I notice…oh, shit._   “You’re talking about my death, aren’t you?”

“It almost killed him, Jay.  He didn’t know how to go on.  Alfred and I tried to hold him together, and Tim came along, and that helped, even though you don’t want to hear that, but that wound never healed.  I still catch him standing outside this room, _your room,_ every now and then, reliving some memory the two of you made.  Since we lost contact with the boys, Bruce has been trying to find some hope that they’re still alive, but he’s dangerously close to giving up.  Three weeks with no word is a long time to wait.  If he lost two sons in one go, on a mission that he gave them, we would have to get him his own padded room at Arkham, because he _would not_ be able to recover from that.  You gave him the best gift he could ever get tonight, when you told him that Timmy and Little D are still alive.  He wasn’t exaggerating tonight when he said you staying for the night would help fix him.”

Both brothers were silent for several minutes, pondering just what would happen to the city if Batman, Red Robin, and Robin were to all suddenly disappear forever.  When the thoughts became too much, Jason said hoarsely, “Hey, Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s my surprise?”

Dick laughed and held a magazine in front of Jason’s face.  Jason’s jaw dropped as he saw what was being offered.  He whispered reverently, “Pamela Anderson.  Where the hell did you find this?  I always thought Alfred threw it out.”  Flipping to the centerfold of the old collector’s issue of Playboy that had been one of the few possessions he had when coming to the manor as a teen, Jason gave a genuine smile.  “Just as beautiful as ever,” Jason said absently.

“It was…appropriated…by our little baby bird.  I couldn’t tell you where he found it.”

Jason was being dealt one shock after another, he wasn’t sure how many more he could take tonight.  “Burger Boy had it?”

“He has a name, Jay.  You can try calling him ‘Tim’ every now and then.  Believe it or not, once you actually get to know him, you might actually like him.  Besides, he _is_ the one who saved your prized possession.”

They fell silent again, this time with far happier thoughts running through their heads.  Jason rolled over again, after putting the magazine back in its old place in the nightstand, and whispered, “No promises, Dick.”

Dick mumbled, half-asleep, “Wasn’t expecting any, Jay, but you made an effort tonight, and that counts for a lot.  Even if this never happens again, it happened once, and that just may be enough.  Good night, little brother.”

“Good night, big brother.”

**A/N: Thought I would give reconciliation a little shot in this story, but don’t expect everything to be Skittles and Beer from here on out.  We won’t be getting back to this part of the story again for several chapters.**

**While this is chapter 4, it was the second chapter written.  It was also the chapter that came first when I made my original outline for School of Wrong.  This chapter is really what started this whole story in my mind, and as such, is probably going to end up being my favorite from the whole story.**

**This chapter drew heavily from Dark Days, Black Nights, so if anything sounds like it should be a reference, it probably is.  I won’t stop anyone who wants to read that story over again to find the references.**


	5. 5

School of Wrong

Chapter 5

_The following takes place during chapter 4._

 

After leaving the formidable, imposing Red Hood writhing, moaning, and cursing on the pavement outside of the Crime Alley Circle K, King and Rome ran flat out for the next half an hour.  They dodged in and out of alleyways and through backstreets, before finally coming to a rest under the loading dock of an abandoned warehouse.

Panting, King took off his gray helmet, idly wondering for the tenth time if it was modeled after the one Red Hood wore, revealing the shaved-headed Timothy Drake, with a pencil-thin moustache adorning his upper lip.  Rome followed suit, removing his helmet to reveal the long-haired Damian Wayne, his sweat-soaked locks plastered to his forehead.  Damian tossed his head, trying to shake out his hair, and reminded Tim of old shampoo commercials.

“Do you think he got the message?” Damian asked, looking around nervously.

Tim nodded, “He got the message.  The question should be, what will he do with the message?”

“We’re placing a lot of trust in someone who is inherently untrustworthy, Drake.  I hope you’re right about this.”

“We may not trust him,” Tim said patiently, “but Jason comes through when he’s needed.  Remember how you two worked so well together last year?” Damian nodded slightly, eyes downcast as he remembered the amazing amount of trust he placed in his older brother once.  “Bruce will get the message.”

Both boys were quiet for several minutes before Tim said, “Good job out there tonight, but I thought we were going to stick to the book when dealing with Hood.”

Damian rolled his eyes and said, “If we had gone by the book tonight, we would still be outside the convenience store, sparring with him.  We needed to get away, before the police showed up.  What good would our message have been if we were arrested trying to get it across?”

“I guess you have a point.  But, when you laughed, after taking Hood down, that was really creepy, D.”

Damian gave a small smile, the one Tim had learned was the boy’s unforced, true smile.  “Are you kidding?  This may be the only time I’ve ever been not only allowed, but encouraged, to hit my brothers.  I needed to enjoy it while I could.”

Tim gave a shocked look, which melted into a soft smile.  “When did you start thinking of Jason as a brother?”

Damian looked up sheepishly, a blush rising in his cheeks.  He said softly, “I don’t know, maybe a month or two after I started thinking of you as a brother.  If Father and Grayson can have enough room in their hearts for all of us, I guess I can try, too.”

Both boys looked away, trying to preserve their dignity by not crying in a chilly, abandoned back lot.  Tim was surprised that Damian didn’t flinch away when he placed a hand on the boy’s arm and squeezed gently.  Damian sniffled and changed the subject.  “What day is it?  The school has us so busy, I’ve lost track.”

Tim smiled at the obvious shift.  “It’s Tuesday.  Thanksgiving is in two days.”

Damian looked down at Tim’s hand, still gently on his forearm.  “Oh.  Another holiday spent apart, then?”

“We do have a long track record of missing them in this family.”  Tim reached down and patted Damian’s knee before saying, “Hey, if you could do anything right now, anything in the world, what would it be?”

“…You’ll think it’s childish,” Damian mumbled, a bit sadly.

“Bet you I won’t.”

Damian looked down at his hands, resting in his lap, and said quietly, “I want to wait until midnight, then climb into Father’s bed.  I…I want him to hold me, and for his only expectation to be for me to be warm, and comfortable, and to not have any nightmares, for just one night.”

Tim surprised Damian by wrapping his arms tightly around the child.  Tim was amazed that the boy would reveal something so personal to him, of all people.  He matched Damian’s tone as he said, “That’s not childish, Damian.  You have no idea how much I want that same thing right now, little brother.  I don’t think I could wait until midnight, though.”

Damian let himself be simply held for a minute, reveling in the comfort being offered, and very secretly wishing he hadn’t spent the last two years trying to eliminate this brother from his life.  “And, I want Pennyworth’s hot chocolate.  I’m sick and tired of being cold.”

Tim gave a short laugh as he released his brother.  “I hear you there.  Come on, let’s get this night over with.”

Damian held up the bag, containing the contents of the liquor store’s cash register.  “I hate this, Drake.  We’re crime _fighters_ , not criminals.  Petty theft turns my stomach.”

Tim smiled as he picked up his helmet and said, “I’m glad to hear that, but we’re not crime fighters, we’re vigilantes.  We may uphold the laws, but legally, what we do is in the gray area of legality.  Many people don’t see a difference between vigilante and criminal.”

“ _I_ see a difference,” Damian grumbled.  “I’ve never felt bad doing that.  This makes me sick.”

Tim stood and got ready to put his helmet back on when Damian looked him in the face and said, “Have I told you today that that moustache looks really stupid?”

Tim rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, you told me this morning.”

Nodding, Damian said, “Good, because it still looks stupid.”

“Okay, sheepdog,” Tim smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair, “It’s amazing that you can see through that mop on your head.  I can’t believe you can get your helmet on over all that hair.”

Smiling, Damian picked up his own helmet, then closed the gap between himself and Tim.  Placing a hand on the teen’s arm, Damian said, “Thanks, Tim.”

Tim placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder and said, “It’s what I’m here for.  Bruce knew this would be a hard mission, that’s why he sent both of us.  I’m here to look out for you, just like you’re here to look out for me.”

Damian nodded and echoed, “It’s what I’m here for.”

Tim smiled one last time before pulling his helmet back into place.  “You ready, Rome?”

Damian pulled his own helmet on and said, “Ready, King.”

“Let’s get back to the pick-up spot.”

Twenty minutes later, King and Rome climbed into the back of a nondescript white van and closed the door.  A voice came from the front passenger area, separated from the cargo area by a solid wall.

“You’re late.  Five more minutes, and we were going to leave without you.  What kept you?”

King spoke up, “We had some problems.  We had to go evasive, to make sure we weren’t followed.”

“Cops?” the voice asked nervously.

“I don’t know what it was,” Rome said, “He had a leather jacket and a red helmet.  His helmet almost looked like the ones you have us wearing.  He isn’t some test from the school, is he?”

An unintelligible grumble sounded on the other side of the voice box, as the driver and passenger discussed this development on the other side of a covered microphone.  Finally, several minutes later, as the van got underway, the voice responded hesitantly.  “That was the Red Hood.  He most definitely isn’t from the school.  He works with the Batman, sometimes.  This is the closest any of our patrols have come to one of them.  You two got lucky tonight.  You’re going to have to explain all this to the boss when we get back.”

King and Rome looked at each other through their helmets.  They were sure that they were being recorded on video, so no other movement or sound came from the boys, but both were thinking the same thing.  _Finally, we can learn who is behind all this.  If we can get this to Batman, maybe we can be home for Thanksgiving?_

The voice continued, “Were you two able to get anything, or did you have to leave it to save your skins?”

King held up the bag Rome had handed him behind the warehouse.  “Cleaned out the register.  It was full; looks like a couple thousand dollars, at least.  And a couple Snickers bars, but we ate those.”

A short laugh hummed through the speaker.  “Good job, boys.  We’ll be back at the school in no time, just relax.”

Close to an hour later, King and Rome were deposited back at the school.  They were instructed to leave the bag in the van and to return to their rooms.  They would be summoned when everything was ready.  Both boys took advantage of the time to shower and change, but soon found themselves sitting on the edges of their individual beds, their nerves increasing by the minute.

They were collected by John at five minutes to midnight.  He told them not to say anything until they were in his office.  Since they were so much later in getting back, the rest of the floor was asleep.  John may have been a hard-nosed, ex-military man, but those under his care soon found out that he genuinely cared for his charges and their welfare, despite the fact the he was using them to spread a crime spree across the city.

Taking seats in the instructor’s office, John said, “You two may have impressed a lot of people tonight, if your story is true.  The boss is on his way.  You should feel honored; it’s a special treat to meet him.  Not everyone in the school ever will.  First, I have to know how you two got away from the Red Hood.”

King looked at Rome, then said, “Years ago, back when we had a family, dad put us into karate.  He wanted his boys to be able to defend ourselves, you know, just in case.  We got pretty good.  Not quite up to a black belt, but close.  I guess that guy, what did you say his name was?  Red Hood?”

John nodded as Rome snickered.  Drawing the man’s attention, Rome said, “Not a very creative name.  He could have just as easily named himself ‘Leather Jacket’, if he wasn’t careful about his costume.”

King rolled his eyes and continued, “Anyway, I guess he wasn’t expecting us to fight back.  Plus, living on the streets has taught us some…unconventional moves.  He isn’t the first person to want to fight us, you know.”

John nodded, and King wasn’t quite sure the man believed him.  John continued his questions.  “Where did you two go, from the time you left the convenience store to the time you got in the van?  You were supposed to be gone for thirty minutes.  You were gone for just over two hours.  Where did you go?”

“We just ran, sir,” King said, “As soon as we got away from that guy, we just booked it, you know?  I don’t know about you, Rome, but I was scared.” Rome nodded in agreement.

“Did you know where you were going?”

“We just ran where it was dark,” Rome said in a small voice.

“What does that mean?”

King sighed, “I learned early on, when we were first on the streets, if people can’t see you doing something, you can’t get caught.  We wanted to hide, until we were sure we weren’t being followed.  We stuck to the shadows; you know, alleys, overhangs, empty buildings.  Anywhere we weren’t likely to be spotted.  We ended up at the loading dock of an old, abandoned warehouse.”

“Where?” John leaned forward, more interested in the story than he thought he would be.

“Johnson and Everly.”

“How do you know it was abandoned?”

King sighed, and Rome looked down at his lap.  “Because, we slept there last winter for a couple days.  It was cold, but it kept the snow off our backs.”

Rome said, “Once we were sure we weren’t being followed, we got our bearings and headed back to the van.”

John’s eyes widened, “How did you get back to the van from there?”

“You don’t live on the streets of Gotham for years without learning your way around town.  Not knowing where you’re going, what gangs control what areas, that’s a good way to get yourself killed.” Under the desk, out of John’s view, King patted Rome’s knee encouragingly.  The move brought a nearly imperceptible smile to the boy’s face, which was quickly damped down, but allowed him to feel like he could continue.

The door to the office opened, surprising the boys, who turned around in their chairs quickly.  A man stuck his head into the room and shook it ‘no’, and gave John a thumb’s up.  John nodded and said, “Johnson and Everly, loading dock.”

The man left as King and Rome turned back to John, confused expressions on their faces.  “What’s going on?” King asked suspiciously.

John smiled, “Just checking on a couple things.

King narrowed his eyes in anger and growled, “What, you think we stole from you?”

John gave a sly grin, “You _did_ rob the Circle K, what’s to keep you from robbing from us?”

Rome gave a matching, angry look, “This was our tenth robbery for you.  Don’t you think we would have been stealing all along?”

“Have you?” When no answer followed, John said, “This is also the first time you haven’t come straight back to the van.  We just have to be sure, before you meet the boss.  He just searched your rooms and uniforms.  The thumbs up means he didn’t find anything that shouldn’t be there.”

The room was tense and silent for the next twenty minutes, before John’s cell phone rang.  The loud ringtone caused both boys to jump in their seats, and John smiled as he answered the phone and set it for speakerphone.  “Anything?” John asked in way of greeting.

The disembodied voice answered, “Yeah, I found a quarter in the parking lot.  The loading dock, however, is clear.  I can see where they sat, the snow is disturbed around the dock.  Footprints lead straight to this spot, and straight away.  They didn’t go inside the building.  And, there’s two Snickers wrappers here.  They’re clean.”

John hung up the phone and regarded the boys with a slightly pleased look.  “Well, it seems you two are guilty of littering.  Sorry guys, we had to be sure.  Congratulations, you passed the test.  Wait here.”

John got up and left the office, leaving the door open to the darkened hallway.  The boys sat, their nerves returning at the prospect of finding out who is the mastermind behind their mission.

Five minutes later, slow, heavy footsteps could be heard approaching down the hardwood hallway.  A distinctive, metallic chime could be heard every few seconds, until a deep, raspy voice sounded from just outside the doorway.

“So, tell me exactly how you got away from Red Hood?”

Their heads snapped to the door, and their eyes widened as far as they would go as Two Face strolled casually into the room, flipping his coin every few steps.

 

**A/N: Well, who was expecting that?  If you weren’t, then maybe you should read some more history.  I gave it away in chapter 1.  Remember, this institution is called the Janus School.  Janus is the ancient Roman god of beginnings and endings.  He is depicted as a man with two faces, one looking to the past, while the other looks towards the future.  Batman is going to kick himself for not catching on to that, and figuring it out himself.**

**I know this chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but I think I said everything I needed to here.  Chapter 6 might be a week or so, only because I’m having a bit of a problem with where I want it to go.  I might go back to something I had planned in the very first outline for this story (I’ve written five outlines for this story, as things changed in my mind) to make an intervening chapter.  Chapter 7, 8, and 9 are either already finished, or close, but I need something to work into chapter 7.  Cutting out chapter 6 and just changing the numbers of the other chapters would be a bit too jarring a transition, so I need the middle chapter.**

**I think the story is coming along well, but I would love to hear what you think so far.  All reviews are appreciated, and I’ll still take guesses on where you think this story is going.**

**Thanks for playing along.**


	6. 6

School of Wrong

Chapter 6

 

Rome flopped down on his bed Sunday night, exhausted.  After Tuesday’s successful heist, encounter with and escape from Red Hood, and meeting with Two-Face, King and Rome found themselves in two quite differing positions.  After meeting the boss, both boys had noticed that they were now the subject of increased scrutiny.  On the one hand, they seemed to be followed by instructors wherever they went, and their roommates were always around.  On the other hand, the tale of their last night out, and subsequent meeting with the boss, had made its way around the school, and our boys found themselves becoming minor celebrities in the building.  Rome thought if he had to tell someone else how they had met Red Hood and escaped, he would be sick.

In response to the encounter with the vigilante, a decision had been made that the students needed increased instruction in self-defense and fighting techniques.  Since King had mentioned previous martial arts training, King and Rome were tasked with assisting in the fight training of the other students.  That on top of their other coursework left both boys drained.  They barely had time to eat regularly over the past week, much less meet to plan their escape from the school.

Idly, Rome wondered if the strain of undercover work, without a definite target or end date, was getting to be too much for him.  _No, that’s not true.  We found our target, now we just have to find a way to get that information back to Batman_ , he thought _._   Rome felt himself at a disadvantage in this situation.  Unlike the other Robins, he had only encountered Two-Face once, and that was through a fluke of a tip.  He had never had to plan a strategy to work around the villain’s plans.  He had never been faced with a situation where he knew he was going to come up against this particular foe, and was only vaguely aware of the man’s thought processes.  Rome needed to discuss things with King, but it seemed that the school was doing its best to prevent that from happening.

The door to his dorm room opened and closed, but Rome made no attempt to roll over to see who it was.  As tired as the boy was, Two-Face himself could have walked into the room, and he couldn’t have summoned the energy to do more than turn his head in the criminal’s direction.  Rome heard the springs creak on the other bed in the room as his roommate laid down and sighed in relief.

A weary voice sounded after several minutes of quiet.  “Hey, Rome.  You awake over there?”

Rome’s voice, muffled by the pillow he was currently burying his face in, replied a minute later with his own sigh, “Yeah, I’m awake.  What’s up, Tommy?”

“I just wanted to know what you thought of the news.”

Rome thought for a second.  _What news?  I didn’t hear any news._   “Well, it’s not my favorite show on TV, but if you need information, that seems to be a fairly easy place to get it.”

“I can’t quite tell if you’re being serious right now, or if you’re just half asleep, Rome.”

Rome rolled onto his side, facing in the general direction of his roommate.  “I’m a little more than half asleep.  I didn’t hear any news.  What are you talking about?”

Tommy smiled and said, “Oh, well, it’s good news.  At least, I think it is.  John just told me.  You and I are going to be teamed up for jobs from now on.  John said you and King are being split up so you two can train others.  The teachers are impressed with your progress, and they want to see if you can teach it to the rest of us.”

Rome opened his eyes and wiped the hair out of his face.  This development _was_ news to him, and it wasn’t entirely good news.  _I wonder if King knows about this.  We need to get out of here.  I need to talk to him._   “Really?” Rome tried to sound excited, but it didn’t quite come through, “I wonder why John didn’t tell me that.”

“Maybe he just hasn’t seen you yet?  Well, I’m excited.  I know I have a lot to learn.  The place is buzzing recently.  Did you two really beat Red Hood?”

A smirk crossed Rome’s lips.  “I don’t know why everyone keeps making a big deal out of that.  It’s not like we took out a Navy Seal, or Bruce Lee, or someone like that.  King distracted some punk in a mask while I found a weak spot.  You would think, if a guy is going to take the time to wear a protective helmet and thick clothes designed to absorb hits, he would be smart enough to wear a cup.”

Tommy sat up, a smile alighting on his face as a small laugh escaped his lips.  “Really?  That’s how you did it?”

“It wasn’t anything special,” Rome shrugged.

Tommy asked in an awed whisper, “You really got to meet Mr. Janus, too?”

“You haven’t met him?” Rome asked, sounding a bit shocked.

“No one meets Mr. Janus without doing something incredible.  I guess I just haven’t got there yet.  What’s he like?”

Rome sat up, bedsprings creaking in protest, and stared at his roommate critically while thinking back to his meeting with the criminal.  He found his thought process shifting from ‘Rome’ to ‘Damian’, then from ‘Damian’ to ‘Robin’, in order to control his reaction.  He wasn’t quite sure if that was even enough as he whispered, “Scary.”

Tommy was obviously waiting for more.  He was leaning forward on his bed, with an expectant grin on his face.  _Can I tell him that he’s working for the bad guys?  He all but told me before that part of his job as my roommate is to spy on me and inform the teachers._

“Well, c’mon, what’s he like,” Tommy asked excitedly.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

Tommy shook his head and said, “He almost never comes to the school, which is why everyone’s been buzzing.  You two have done something that most of us here will never do.”

Rome got up and checked the door, to make sure no one was listening on the other side, and that it was as secure as he could make it.  He sat next to Tommy and spoke in a low voice.  “Okay, I’ll tell you, but this has to stay a secret.  Not like when you told John that I thought I could pick a lock, but a real secret, okay?  Promise?”

Tommy nodded, the eager look sliding from his face, to be replaced with a serious look.  Rome held his gaze for several seconds before saying, “Mr. Janus is Two-Face.”

Tommy made no reaction to the news, so Rome continued, “You know, Two-Face?  The criminal?  The guy who fights with Batman all the time?”

Tommy’s mouth worked up and down a couple times before saying, “Yeah, I know of Two-Face, but what would he be doing here, sponsoring a school for orphans?  And why would that school have such…interesting…extra-curricular activities?”

Rome’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.  Realization dawned on the boy in the cruelest way possible.  “Because we aren’t being trained for nine to five jobs.  We’re not stealing to help out the school with extra funds to add to the budget.  We’re being trained as the next generation of criminals!”

Tommy ventured slowly, “But…is that so bad?  I mean, just because we’re being trained to steal, to be criminals, doesn’t mean we have to _be_ criminals.  We’re still getting more of an education than the city, or churches, or other charities, bothered to provide for us.  So, we have a couple petty thefts under our belt.  Almost everyone in Gotham has some sort of record.  How is this any different than what we were doing on the streets?  We stole to survive then.  I still see it as doing the same thing now.”

As surprised as he was, Rome could find no fault with the teen’s explanation.  _What else do the rest of these students have to look forward to?  It’s not like they can go back to the manor when this is all done.  We really will be putting these kids back on the street.  They’ll continue stealing, but won’t have the safety net of the school to escape back to.  They’ll get caught eventually, and all their previous crimes will come out.  They’ll do time, then start the cycle all over again.  Damn.  Just what we needed, another wrinkle to iron out.  I need to talk to King._ “I guess you’re right, Tommy,” Rome said grudgingly.

“Sure I’m right.  Besides, you’re pretty good at it.”

Rome smirked for a second, before the compliment caused his stomach to flip.  “Well, I guess so.”

Tommy placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Anyway, where else are we going to go?  Back to the streets?  We’ll freeze out there.”

Both boys were silent for several minutes as they thought of their current place.  Tommy patted Rome’s shoulder before laying down again.  He looked at the younger boy, still sitting on his bed, and asked, “Well?  Aren’t you going to tell me what he’s like?”

Rome’s head snapped in the direction of his roommate, as he wondered if the teen was serious.  “Didn’t you hear me when I said he was scary?  I mean, come on, you can just about see through his face.  I’ve never been scared of skeletons before, but I might have some nightmares about him.”

Rome suddenly stood, and Tommy looked concerned, “Where are you going?”

“I’m hungry.  Want to see if the mess hall is still serving?  I know it’s a bit late.”

Tommy stood, “There are snacks available around the clock.  I could use one, too.”

The boys entered the quiet mess hall, and Rome smiled as he spotted King sitting at a corner table, reading a book on self-defense.  Tommy and Rome found something appetizing to nibble on and joined King at his table.

It was close to a minute before King noticed that the boys had sat down.  He jumped, startled, as Rome started reading over his shoulder.  Tommy chuckled in a good natured way as King said, “Geez, Rome.  You could have at least said ‘hi’ when you sat down.  Trying to give me a heart attack, or something?”

Rome just gave King a smile that reminded the teen of one too many close calls and death threats from another life.  King put down the book and continued.  “John was looking for you.  They’re splitting us up, in the hopes we can help others in the off chance they encounter anyone like that Red Hood guy.  I need to brush up on techniques.  I don’t know if I can teach others.”

Rome nodded, “Tommy told me about us getting split up.  Maybe we can help the others.  This can be a good thing.”

King gave Rome a careful look.  Only through his knowledge of the boy did he catch the nerves in his voice.  It was obvious that Tommy didn’t hear the shift in tone.  _I need to talk to him, alone.  How can I get him away from Tommy?_

Finishing his snack, Rome looked back at the table, where King had set the book down.  “Hey,” he asked, “Where did you get that book?”

“John gave it to me,” King replied, an idea forming in his head.  “I guess he got it out of the library.”

Rome’s face lit up, but he quickly damped it down.  “Library?  I didn’t know there was a library here.  I haven’t had a chance to read a book in a long time.”

King looked from Rome to Tommy and back several times.  Finally, he asked, “Tommy, didn’t you give him a tour when you were first paired?”

Tommy shook his head, “We’ve been so busy.  I guess we haven’t gotten to it yet.”

King stood up, “Come on, Rome.  I guess I have a lot to show you.  You don’t mind, do you, Tommy?”

The teen shook his head, “No, I don’t mind.  I might meet you there, I need to return my book.  Maybe I’ll get something more practical than Harry Potter for the next one; something that will help me keep up with your cousin there.”

King knew Rome wasn’t really interested in the library, the boy had just found a way for them to be alone for a few minutes.  _I think he’s a bit nervous about us being split up,_ King thought.  _I know he wants this to be over and done with; so do I._

As soon as Tommy was out of earshot, King whispered in a tone that only Rome could hear.  “You okay?”

The boys entered the library, and for a moment, Rome was taken back to another place.  Trying to maintain his persona of not caring for anything, and enjoying normal activities even less, Damian had made efforts to not be seen enjoying many of the things that he actually reveled in.  As such, he had made numerous late night trips to the manor’s library.  He had spent hours combing through the titles available, always trying to cover the spaces from the selections he clandestinely took to his room.  He had a habit of covering the tomes to match his school books, so if anyone caught him reading, he could claim it was school work, and he wasn’t reading because he enjoyed it.  Damian was well aware that Father and Grayson were suspicious of his reading habits, but so far, no one had mentioned anything.  Occasionally, Dick would leave a book on his nightstand, with a note encouraging the boy to read something for fun every now and then.  Damian read every single title left for him, being careful to leave the book looking like it hadn’t been opened.  He then returned the book to Dick the next day, telling him to stop wasting his time, and that he wasn’t interested.

Snapping back to his current place and time, Rome whispered, “I feel there is more to our separation than we are being told.  We should be careful for the next few days.”

King smiled and said quietly, “As opposed to what we’ve been doing for the past few weeks?”

King caught a small glare before he said, “Yeah, I think you’re right.  I just wish we could figure out how to get the word out.”

Rome nodded, only half paying attention, his eyes on the various novels around him.  “Can’t we just run away?  The next time we go out on a job, we just disappear?”

King caught where the boy’s eyes were traveling as they walked down a back aisle.  _Huh, maybe he is interested in the library after all.  Does he think we would make fun of him?  Everyone at the manor loves to read.  According to Dick, even Jason would curl up with a good book in front of the fire on a rainy day._   “I think that may be part of the reason they broke us up.  Not working together anymore, remember?” King said in a low tone.

“Oh, yeah,” Rome looked grumpy at the thought.

“Don’t worry, we’ll think of something.”  King looked at the smaller boy standing next to him.  _I don’t think he’s even looked at me since we came in here.  I wonder…_ “Hey, why do you pretend not to like to read?”

“I _don’t_ like reading.” Rome said moodily.

“Then why haven’t you looked at anything but the books since we came in here?  Why do I always see you sitting at your desk, reading?”

“That’s homework.”  A slight blush crept into Rome’s cheeks.  “I…need to keep my grades up.”

King gave a full smile, knowing they were getting dangerously close to a forbidden topic in the wrong place, but also knowing he was about to catch the boy in an epic lie.  He said in a voice just over a whisper, “You have to pass my room to get downstairs.  I’m a light sleeper.  I see you when you come back up, too.  It’s okay to enjoy a book, to read just for the fun of it.  We all do it.  There’s no weakness in expanding your knowledge, and you can learn a lot from novels; almost as much as you can from technical manuals, or school books.  Why is it such a bad thing that you allow us to see you enjoying something?  You stopped doing a lot of things when…you know who…came home.  What are you afraid of?”

Several students, including Tommy, entered the library, cutting off a chance for King to hear an answer.  King and Rome separated as naturally as possible, looking at different aisles of books.

King overheard Tommy ask Rome, “See anything that looks interesting?”

“I don’t know,” Rome said, a bit of awe in his voice, “I’ve never even heard of most of these books before.”

_I have an idea,_ King thought.  King walked by the two boys, stopped in front of Rome with a smile, and handed over a pencil and a sheet of paper he grabbed from the librarian’s desk.  Rome looked confused as he took both items, and King walked away.  Tommy looked over the younger boy’s shoulder, trying to see if there was anything written on the paper.  Rome was doing the same thing.  He looked at both sides, then the pencil, then held the paper up to the light.  It was completely blank.

Both boys looked around for King, who had disappeared down another aisle.  “I wonder what this is about,” Rome said.

Tommy shrugged as he picked a book off of the shelf and began reading the dust jacket.

“Make a list.”  King’s whispered voice floated through the racks to the boys.  Rome hurried to the other side of the shelf, but his cousin was gone.

“This isn’t funny, King,” Rome said in a loud, frustrated voice.  He was promptly ‘shushed’ by several voices, including the librarian.  His face was red as he heard King chuckling softly from behind him.

Turning, Rome walked up to the teen and said, “What is this all about?”

King patted Rome’s shoulder.  “You’re obviously interested in some, or all, of the titles here.  Why don’t you write them down, so you can mark them off after you’ve read them?  It’s okay, Rome, you’re in a good place here.  I think we’ll be here long enough for you to get through at least a few of them.”

Ready to dismiss the idea as idiotic, Rome quickly gave it a second thought.  _I don’t think most of these are in the manor’s library.  I may not get another chance to read some of these, once we find a way to take this place apart.  Father would never buy me most of these; some of them look like children’s books.  It would be a waste of resources.  Why am I interested in them, if they’re just children’s books?  Am I regressing, the longer I’m with these mental midgets, like Drake?_

King walked away to another aisle, but was secretly happy when he came across Rome several minutes later, scribbling a name on the paper.  Approaching, he said, “Hey, Tommy never showed you the rest of the floor, did he?”

Still distracted, but not really caring that he was caught writing down several more titles before he answered, Rome said, “No, just the classrooms, mess hall, restrooms, and our dorm.”

King smiled and said, “Come on, there’s something else you should see.”

The boys left the library, after Rome hastily scribbled several more titles on his list, and crossed the hall.  “I actually spend a lot of time in here.”

Rome looked around the darkened computer lab and smirked.  “Why am I not surprised?”

“Hush, you.  They may not be the newest or flashiest things, but they have their perks.  I think I know something you’ll like.”

Sitting before a computer station, King brought up ‘Battle Gate’, an online, knock-off, Warcraft-type game.  King signed into his account and began a quest while Rome watched.  King was obviously enjoying himself, until Rome asked, “So, what is the attraction, or use, of this game?  Isn’t it just a knock-off of any number of games on the market?”

Sighing, King said, “Well, it’s free to play, and accessible to anyone on the internet.  Yes, it is a knock-off, but they actually did a pretty good job with it.  Here, watch this.”

King maneuvered his character to stand in front of another onscreen character and entered a string of commands.  After a rather pathetic scene of the characters swinging swords, and numbers representing strength being reduced on both characters, the scene changed to a pre-rendered cut scene.  King’s character was rendered as a Conan-style medieval muscle man, carrying a broadsword almost as tall as the character.  The onscreen avatar walked towards a kneeling, cowering foe and hefted the sword.  In one sure strike, the defeated enemy was beheaded, with rather impressive accompanying showers of blood and gore.  A digitized announcer voice then announced ‘You Slayed’ in a deep, commanding voice.

King turned to Rome for some sort of reaction.  The younger boy had been silent through the entire cut scene, and now King found him staring at the screen, his jaw slack at what he had seen.  “Well?”

“…I can appreciate that.”

King smirked.  “I thought you could.  It’s a good way to work out your frustrations.”

_Meanwhile…_

A minute after watching King and Rome exit the library, Tommy followed, careful not to be spotted by either of the students he had been tasked to keep an eye on.  The door to the computer lab was open, and he stuck his head in quietly.  Seeing both boys gathered around a computer, playing a game, he withdrew to another part of the building’s second floor.

Even this late at night, Tommy knew that John would be in his office.  He knocked on the door and waited, knowing that to enter uninvited would not win him any favors.  Several minutes later, the door was opened by the man the teen was looking for.

“Tommy, it’s kind of late, isn’t it?  You didn’t have a job tonight, what’s going on?”

“Sir, I have an update on my _other_ job,” Tommy said quietly.

John looked both ways down the hall before opening the door wide enough to allow the youth to enter the office.  He closed and locked the door before walking back and sitting behind his desk.  Tommy stood on the far side of the desk, looking only slightly nervous.  “What’s wrong, Tommy?  Are you having second thoughts about the importance of what has been asked of you?”

Tommy looked away from the man as he said, “No, sir.  It’s just…I like them.  I hate to think they would do anything against the school.”

“They are a likable pair, but they are also very new to the program, and they display talents they probably shouldn’t have.  Continue with your report, Tommy.”

Tommy took a deep breath before meeting the program director’s eyes.  “Sir, I think we have a problem…”

 

**A/N: First of all, I was thinking of the Christopher Nolan Two-Face when I was writing this.  That is why he is described as skeletal, instead of just disfigured.  Also, the game character being described as ‘Conan-like’ is referring to the Barbarian, not the late-night talk show host.**

**This chapter should be the last before the action starts to ramp up.  I’m really happy with where the next few chapters are going.  I have been writing them longhand, pen and paper, while at work.  They don’t ask too many questions if I look like I’m working, and they would be hard-pressed to actually decipher my handwriting, so I can make some extra progress on the story while away from home.**

**Thanks for playing along.**


	7. 7

School of Wrong

Chapter 7

 

“Hey, King.  Come in here for a minute.”

King stopped at the sound of John calling out to him as he passed the man’s office door.  He had been on his way to find Rome, in the hopes of plotting a way to get in contact with Batman.  Not wanting to look suspicious, King turned around.

“Sure.  What’s up?” King said easily as he entered the room.

Behind the teen, the door was pushed closed forcefully, the slam echoing in the small office and causing King to jump at the noise.  He whipped around to find Two Face leaning against the wall.  Trying to control the tremor that wanted to break out in his shoulders, King asked nervously, “What’s going on?”

Two Face walked around the desk and stood next to the seated John and said, “You’ve done some good work for us lately, and, given your upbringing, I’m rather surprised.”

_My upbringing?  What is he talking about?  Where is this going?_   King made no response; he didn’t quite know what to say.

Two Face leaned forward, planting his fists on the surface of the desk.  “Did you really think we wouldn’t find out?” Two Face growled out dangerously.

King couldn’t stop the tremor in his shoulders from showing up in his voice.  “F-f-find out w-what?” he gasped out.

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy.  You won’t like the consequences.  Why are you here?”

“I-I’m just looking for a better life, Mister Two Face, sir.” King’s voice cracked in a way it hadn’t in several years, not since the onset of puberty.

Two Face sneered as he stood straight up again.  “I think you had a pretty good thing going before, Herod ‘King’ Jones.  Or, should I say, Timothy Drake-Wayne?”

Two Face turned the computer monitor to face Tim.  On it was a picture of bald-headed King next to a picture of dark-haired, smiling Timothy Drake.  It was obviously a newspaper clipping, but that wasn’t the most important part of the image.  Blinking under the two pictures, in bright green letters, was a message saying ‘Match-100%.’

Tim’s face paled to roughly the same color as the gray school uniform he was wearing as Two Face said in a low tone, “Facial Recognition software.  What?  You think only the police and Batman can have the cool toys?  What are you doing here, son of Wayne?”

Tim opened his mouth, but his mind was a complete blank.  He couldn’t even get his mind started enough to tell himself to think.  Of all the contingency plans they had brainstormed for ways the mission could go wrong, being found out as Bruce’s son was not one of them.  They always thought it would be far more likely for him to be outed as Red Robin than as Tim Drake.

A gloved hand flashed out and struck Tim across the face, hard, jump-starting his mind and bringing him back into the room around him.  “Why are you here, son of Wayne?” Two Face yelled in his face, spittle flying in his rage.

_Think, Tim.  Think of something, and quick.  Your life depends on it right now; so does Damian’s.  Oh God, does he know about Damian, too?  There are far fewer pictures of Damian available.  Maybe I can cover for him?_   A half-formed plan began to coalesce in his mind.  He would have to be convincing, but it was all he had.  _Bruce and Harvey Dent used to be friends, I wonder…_

“You don’t know what he’s like,” Tim said in a quiet voice, staring resolutely at the desk.

A gloved hand made its way violently across the other side of Tim’s face, spinning the teen around and threatening to knock him off his feet.  Two Face growled, “Don’t tell me that, you.  Don’t lie to me.  I know Bruce Wayne.”

_Sorry Bruce,_ Tim thought, _but if I’m going to get out of here alive, and he’s going to buy it, then you have to be a bit of a monster for the next few minutes._   “You _knew_ Bruce Wayne.  He’s changed.  He’s not the smiling businessman you see on the news.  He’s not the man you thought you knew, all those years ago.  You don’t know what it’s like, living with him.  He has to control everything.  Everything has to be his way.  There’s no room for anyone else but him in his life.”

Two Face scoffed as he heard the description of his old friend.  “How bad can it be, living with a billionaire?”

“He has to control everything,” Tim repeated, his voice growing desperate, “You think his butler wants to stay with him?  Bruce is blackmailing him into a life of slavery.  You think I worked for Wayne Enterprises because I wanted to?  I applied everywhere I could to get away from him, but he found out and called everywhere I tried to go and used his influence to keep them from hiring me.  He even bribed some of them to make sure I wasn’t able to escape him.”

“Wayne still pays you for working for his company.  Why didn’t you take that and run, if things were so bad?”

Tim rolled his eyes, while his stomach churned at the lie he was forcing himself to make up.  “I don’t have any money.  _He_ controls the accounts.  Sure, technically there is an account at Gotham First Federal under the name Tim Drake, but he is the only one with access to it.  Yes, there is money in the account, but only enough to keep the account open.  As soon as I’m ‘paid’, the money is automatically transferred back into his accounts.”

Two Face looked at the teen critically and said, “You have an apartment in the city.  News reports said you were living in a building newly renovated through a building project from Wayne Enterprises.  Sounds like he’s not as bad as you’re making out.”

“He pays for it, and there are security cameras everywhere.  Everywhere!” Tim shuddered, hoping he was selling his story enough.  “Do you know how hard it is to shower, knowing that he’s watching?  He put a waterproof camera right above the shower head.  There’s another one in the ceiling over the toilet, and one right above my bed.  The windows are bolted shut from the outside.  There are motion detectors covering every inch of the apartment.”

Tim slumped down in the chair next to him, feeling the exertion of coming up with a believable lie on the fly.  Tim whispered in a pained voice, “I tried dismantling them once.  He broke my arm the next day.  He told the doctors it was a car accident, but it was him.  He has a security array in the attic of his house.  He can see every room of the house, every inch of my apartment, and every available space of Wayne Towers.  He has to know everything.  He has to control everything.  Everything has to be his way.”

John spoke up for the first time since Two Face took over the interrogation.  “Like what?  Besides the cameras, I mean.  Give me an example.”

Tim looked up at the man, desperation on his face.  “Everything, right down to my underwear.”

John snickered as Tim continued, “According to Bruce, as his son, I have to wear tighty whities.  I’m a boxers guy, but Bruce won’t allow that.  He caught me wearing boxers once.  He yelled at me, then knocked me down and ripped them off me.  He left me lying naked on the ground while he burned them, and the rest of my boxers, too.  I was told that I would wear the briefs, or nothing at all.”

The room was quiet for several minutes as Two Face typed at the computer.  Finally, he said, “If he’s so strict and demanding on you, why isn’t he on the others?  The little one is in France, studying art, right?  That sounds like a lot of trust, trust that doesn’t match your story, Drake.”

Tim made a show of rolling his eyes.  “You’re going to believe what’s reported in the society columns?  Bruce owns the shell companies that run those papers.  Those are the same papers that say I’m in Switzerland right now, right?  Damian isn’t at an Art School in France, he’s at a Reform School in Siberia.  Kid’s got a smart mouth on him.  He talked back to Bruce, complained about…something, I don’t even remember.  The next day, he was gone.”

“The dead one?” Two Face asked, slowly starting to believe that his old friend had gone so far off the rails.

“Suicide.  He couldn’t take it anymore.  At least, that’s what the note said.  Bruce kept the note, as a warning to me and Damian, that there was only one way out from under his thumb.”  Tim shuddered again, crying inside for what he had to say about Bruce in order to save his life.

“What about the oldest?  He always seemed to love Bruce Wayne.”

Tim snorted, “He does.  Dick…Golden Boy.  The one who could do no wrong.  Bruce worships Dick.  None of the rest of us could live up to that, so we had to be punished.” Tim glanced up nervously, his breath shallow.  “W-what are you going to do with me?”

“That depends,” Two Face said, “Why are you here?”

“I had to get out.  I had to get out.  I ran away.  I shaved my head, to try to hide from him.  I started living on the streets.  I tried to stay one step ahead of his detectives.  I know he’s looking for me.”

“Who is the kid?” John asked.

Tim shook his head, “I don’t know.  Some homeless kid I found on the street.  I thought I would have a better chance of evading Bruce if I wasn’t alone.  Bruce and his detectives would just be looking for me.  A pair of people might just be able to slip past detection.  I told the kid I would get him off the streets and in here if he played along that he was my cousin.”

“Why here?” Two Face growled.

Tim flinched, “I knew about the school.  One of the things I did at work was to find charities for Bruce to give donations to in order to get tax deductions.  I didn’t tell him about this place.  I thought it could be the perfect cover, to get away from him.  Why would Bruce look at a charity high school for a kid that he paid to be put through college?”

Two Face stared at Tim as the tension rose in the room.  Not knowing how the teen could stand the glare, John coughed and said quietly, “What now, boss?  What do you want to do with him?”

Two Face pushed John out of his seat and said as he sat down, “Get up, I need your computer.  Take him, tie him up, lock him up somewhere for safekeeping.”

Tim tried to struggle against the ex-military man as he said nervously, “What are you going to do with me?”

The master criminal didn’t look up as he said, “You’ve caused me too much trouble today, so you’re getting what’s coming to you.  I think old Bruce would pay a few million to keep what you just told me out of the papers.”

John dragged Tim out of the room as Tim yelled, “NO!  You can’t do that!  Let me stay, please, let me stay!  He’ll kill me!  I can be useful to you, PLEASE!”

Tim’s anguished cries were cut off as the door shut, and Two Face began typing.  John locked the crying, heartbroken teen in an empty storage closet, a half-pitying look on his face as he locked the door.  As soon as Tim heard the footsteps fade away, his anguished cries morphed into a quiet, gleeful laugh.  _They bought it.  I’ll see you soon, Bruce.  I just wish I didn’t have so much to explain when I see you._

_Meanwhile…_

Bruce sat at the massive desk in his office, rubbing his temples in a vain attempt to ward off the headache that was building behind his eyes.  He never realized how much work running both Wayne Enterprises and The Wayne Foundation at the same time was.  _I really need to give the Foundation staff a raise.  I never realized how much they actually do in a day.  Why do Monday’s always suck around here?_

Bruce’s next call wasn’t for an hour, so he decided to just put his head down on his desk, and hope he could take a few minutes to close his eyes and rest.  As soon as he put his head down, his computer beeped.  He lifted his head, just to make sure that he wasn’t resting it on his keyboard.  Seeing that he wasn’t, he started to put his head back down, when he saw an icon flashing on the monitor.  Bruce had a new email.

_Can’t they just leave me alone for five minutes?_ Bruce thought to himself as he opened the new message.  Reading the first few lines made his jaw drop in shock.

To: Bruce.Wayne@WayneEnterprises .org

From: Harvey.Dent@GothamMail .com

Subject: I have something of yours

A screen shot of the two pictures of Tim, the same pictures that had been shown to Tim just a few minutes before, were pasted into the message.  Bruce scrolled down below the images to read what was, quite possibly, the last message he wanted to read.

_Hello Bruce, long time, no see._

_I believe I have something that belongs to you.  He’s unharmed, so far.  If you want him to stay that way, then you will bring five million dollars cash to the Old North Bridge underpass.  Come alone.  You bring the cash, my men will bring the kid, and everyone is happy.  I mean alone, Bruce.  No pigs, and no Bats.  My men see any of those, and all you get back is a body.  You know who I’ve become, so you know I’m serious.  However, if the kid’s story is true, you may have your own dark side that I never expected.  It is only due to our past friendship that I am making you this offer.  Come alone, at midnight tonight, or the tale of woe your kid told me makes the morning edition.  I know you don’t want that.  Be sure to reply, so I know if I should tell my men to wait, or to just dump the body._

Bruce typed the fastest reply email of his life, assuring Two Face that he would be there with the money, then he picked up his phone and dialed Dick’s extension.

“Dick Grayson’s office.  This is…”

“Dick,” Bruce interrupted, “Get up to my office, now.”

Dick sounded concerned, “Bruce, what’s…”

Bruce interrupted again, “Now, Dick.  If you aren’t in my office in three minutes, I’m going to fire you and give your job to Damian.”

“…I’m on my way.”

Bruce hung up, then immediately picked the receiver up again and dialed his home number.

Alfred’s voice came through the handset.  “Wayne residence.”

“Alfred,” Bruce said exasperatedly, “Emergency.  Quick, I need five million dollars, cash.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just write a check, Master Bruce?”

Bruce sighed, “Not an option, Alfred.  It wouldn’t be accepted and would be too dangerous for what I need it for.  Downstairs, in the dressing room, under the racks, there’s a trap door.  The real emergency stash is under there.  Count out five million, put it in a suitcase, and hide a passive tracker in the case.  Have it ready to go by the time I get home, okay?”

Alfred’s calm demeanor cracked under the urgency in Bruce’s voice.  “What is it, Master Bruce?”

“It’s the boys, Alfred.  I can’t explain now.  Just get the money ready, please.  I’ll tell you everything when Dick and I get home.”

“Of course, sir,” Alfred said, knowing that Bruce had already hung up.

Bruce’s intercom buzzed as he set the phone down.  “Mr. Wayne, your…”

“Send him in, Jean,” Bruce interrupted his secretary.

The office door opened immediately, and Bruce realized he was doing a lot of interrupting in the last five minutes.  He called out, “Thank you, Jean,” before Dick could close the door, hoping he could come up with some sort of story to tell the woman when he tried to bolt from the office in just a few minutes.

“What’s the big deal, Bruce?  You know Damian couldn’t do my job.”

Bruce waved Dick over urgently.  As he walked over, Bruce said, “I just got this.  You won’t believe it.  And, you know as well as I do that Damian could do your job almost as well as you do it.”

The smirk died on Dick’s lips as he saw the pictures of Tim.  Reading the header of the message, Dick breathed out, “No, Timmy!”

A minute later, after finishing the message, his hands had migrated to Bruce’s shoulders, and were squeezing hard, trying to root himself.  He felt he may have fallen over if he didn’t.  “What are you going to do, Bruce?”

Bruce turned his head so fast that his neck popped.  Ignoring the sensation that traveled down his back, Bruce said, “What do you mean, what am I going to do?  I’m going to give Harvey everything he wants.  I have to.  I can’t risk either of them coming home in anything but perfect health.”

Dick read the message again and asked, “Does this mean that Damian’s cover is still intact?  The message only mentions Tim.  What do you think this bit about a dark side means?”

Bruce sighed, “I doubt seriously that Tim gave up my mask.  It would mean giving up his own, as well, and he wouldn’t do that without some serious torture.  As much as Harvey has gone round the bend, I just don’t think he would do that.  Harvey was always a man of his word, and he said that Tim was unharmed.  I wouldn’t put anything past Two Face, but I don’t believe he wants to hurt Tim.”

“That’s because he doesn’t know who he is, other than Tim Drake,” Dick said.  “If he did, then we would only be getting a body back, and it would already have hit the news.”

Bruce nodded, his gorge rising at the thought of losing his son and having the world crash down around him.  “Tim must have found a way to cover for Damian, otherwise there would be more pictures attached to the message, and the ransom would be for twenty million, not just five.”

Dick looked at Bruce and asked, “Can you cover the ransom?”

Bruce turned in his chair and smiled at Dick, not saying anything.  Dick sighed, rolled his eyes, and said, “I know you can cover the ransom.  What I meant is, do you have that much on hand, or do we have to stop at an ATM on the way home.”

Bruce’s smile grew.  “I’d like to see the ATM that has five million dollars in it.  Alfred’s taking care of the ransom as we speak from the emergency fund in the cave.  He’s putting a tracker in as well.”

Dick nodded, “When do we leave?”

Bruce stood and said, “Let me grab my coat.”

As Bruce took the overcoat from the closet, Dick said, “No, I meant, when do we leave for the meet?”

“ _I_ leave at about eleven.  _You’re_ not coming.”

Dick looked up, shocked.  “Bruce, you can’t be serious.  No way am I letting you do this alone.”

Bruce grew deadly serious.  “This is not open for debate, Dick.  The message said alone, just me, Tim, and Two Face’s men.  That is all that’s going to be there.  I will not risk something happening to Tim just to have back up.  I can handle whatever Harvey sends at me, and if I need help, Tim will be there.”

“You can’t expect me to just wait at home, Bruce.”

Bruce took Dick’s hand in both of his, “That’s exactly what you will do.  Nightwing doesn’t leave the cave, and Dick doesn’t leave the den.  Don’t make me make Alfred tranquilize you.  Tim’s going to want a big hug when he gets home, and you can’t do that if you’re drugged up and unconscious.”

Dick gave Bruce a hard look, then backed down and said, “Fine, you win.  Just get my brother safely.  Don’t take any chances; not with him, and not with yourself.”

Bruce nodded, with a grim smile, and said, “Agreed.  Let’s go home.”

The men left the office and were stopped at Jean’s desk.  The secretary looked concerned.  “Mr. Wayne, is everything okay?”

Bruce tried to cover as best he could, “Everything’s fine, Jean.  Just a little surprise, that’s all.”

They turned to leave, and the secretary said, “Are you leaving?  What about your call?  It starts in ten minutes.”

Business obligation completely forgotten, Bruce turned back to the woman.  “Oh, I forgot.  Who is the call with?  Maybe we can reschedule it?”

Jean consulted the calendar on her monitor and said, “The call is with the acting head of the Foundation.”

Dick smiled and said, “Well, he kept that meeting, so I think we can cancel the call.”

Tim Drake was the current Chief Operating Officer of the Wayne Foundation.  Bruce had never regretted leaving the Foundation in Tim’s hands, but when he went undercover, the day to day operations had to be handed off to someone else.  The Foundation’s Vice President, a man named Winston Reynolds, was a competent businessman in his own right.  However, a week after the Foundation was turned over to him, Winston was involved in a serious car wreck, leaving him hospitalized for several weeks.  The man was recovering at home now, but was in no shape to try to run the largest charity organization in Gotham City.  That accident had left a vacuum at the top of qualified candidates, and in a move that he regretted, Bruce took it on personally.

A week of that turned out to be too much for Bruce.  He went looking for anyone who could assist, and found a willing volunteer in Dick.  Dick’s own duties at Wayne Enterprises could easily be shifted onto others, so he could focus entirely on the Foundation.  It ended up being a great weight lifted from Bruce’s shoulders, and Dick was happy to do it.  As he described it, where else could he help out two of the people he loved most in the world, while also having vast resources at his disposal to help out the city that had become his home?

Jean returned the smile and said, “Well, as long as that is covered, I guess there is nothing else for you to do here.  Is this a good surprise, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce tried to smile, and only just succeeded, “I’ll say.  Tim is coming home early.  I just got a message that he will be home late tonight.  We need to make sure everything is ready for him.”

Jean’s smile brightened, “Oh, that’s great!  Be sure to give him a big hug for me, okay?  Do you want me to see about canceling your meetings tomorrow?”

Bruce thought for a minute, then said, “Just cancel the morning ones.  I’ll plan on coming in around noon tomorrow.”

“Done,” the woman said.  When she got a strange look from Bruce, she said, “Your first meeting isn’t until one tomorrow, so I don’t have to shift anything just yet.”

Bruce nodded, then said, “How many of my meetings tomorrow are in person?  How many of them can be switched to calls?”

Jean gave a knowing smile.  “Consider it done.  I’ll arrange everything, and send you an email with your new schedule so you can work from home tomorrow.  I’ll see you Wednesday, Mr. Wayne.  Don’t forget to give him that hug for me.”

Turning towards the door, Bruce said, “That would mean that I would have to stop giving him the one from me, which I don’t plan on doing.  Thanks, Jean.  I don’t know what I would do without you.”

The hours between Bruce and Dick getting home from the office and the midnight meet were some of the longest, tensest hours ever suffered by the residents of the manor.  Alfred was shocked at the turn of events, and immediately launched the same request to attend the meet that Dick had tried.  Succumbing to the same logic that Dick had, as well, Alfred made the strongest pot of coffee he could.

Bruce and Dick spent the time trying not to think of all the ways this night could end badly.  Both counted the money twice each, making sure that the tracker was well hidden.  Bruce spent the hour before he left pacing the halls, while Dick disappeared.

Bruce’s mind was a mass of worry and stress as he passed Tim’s room on the second floor.  Finding the door open, for the first time in over a month, only added to the confusion.  A smile broke out on his face as he entered the room and saw the lump on the bed in the darkened room.  He allowed himself to believe, even just for a second, that the exchange was over and Tim was safe in his own bed, until the lump spoke.

“The bed doesn’t smell like Timmy anymore.”

Bruce sighed as Dick’s voice spoke from the darkness.  He walked quietly up to the bed and sat down, his back to Dick, his elbows on his knees.

“It’s been over a month, chum.  Did you really think Alfred wouldn’t change the sheets in that time?”

Dick rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling.  “Of course he changed the sheets, but that doesn’t mean the room shouldn’t smell like him anymore.  It’s like he’s been gone for a year, not a month or so.  I miss him so much.”

“We’re getting him back tonight, Dick.  You won’t be missing him for much longer.” Bruce wiped his face, trying to ease his discomfort.  It didn’t help.  “I guess you won’t like hearing this, but Damian’s room doesn’t smell like him anymore, either.”

Dick sniffled at that quiet announcement.  “I hope he’s okay.  Is everything ready for tonight?”

Bruce nodded absently, “Yeah, everything’s ready.”

Dick sat up and waited for Bruce to turn around.  A minute later, the man did.  “I’m scared, Bruce.  We don’t know what you’re walking into tonight.  How do we know he won’t try to take you hostage?”

Bruce gave a small smile, “That won’t get him anything.  Harvey knows his best deal is to go through with the ransom demand.  He doesn’t stand to gain anything by trying a double cross.”

Dick leaned into the man, “Don’t take any risks out there, okay?  Just get it done and get Timmy back here.  I don’t like you being out there alone.”

Alfred cleared his throat from the doorway, unsurprised to find both of his charges in this particular room.  “Master Bruce…it’s time.”

Bruce sighed and stood up.  Turning back, he met Dick’s eyes for a long minute.  No words passed between the two; everything had been said a hundred times before over the years.  Bruce finally nodded and left the room, Alfred following close behind.

The butler helped his employer into his coat and said softly, “Master Dick may have not felt like saying it, but I will.  You will be careful, young man.  You will not do anything to endanger Master Timothy, or yourself.  You will go straight there, and come straight home when your business is completed.  And,” Alfred smoothed the lapels of Bruce’s overcoat nervously, “You are absolutely doing the right thing, the only thing you can do in this situation.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Bruce whispered as he picked up the case.  He gave his oldest friend a similar look to the one he gave Dick.  If the unspoken communication between himself and his oldest son expressed sentiments said hundreds of times, the same communication between master and butler expressed thousands of little moments, spread over a lifetime.  Bruce finally gave a small nod, and walked out the door, feeling for the first time like this evening would end positively.

Ten minutes before midnight, an unmarked, white cargo van pulled in under the Old North Bridge.  Bruce had arrived twenty minutes earlier to get the lay of the land, just in case.  It was typical for an underpass.  The biggest thing Bruce had to worry about was keeping Batman in check.

Bruce stepped from his car and into the lightly falling snow.  A man with a military-style buzz cut exited the van and took a step towards Bruce before stopping.

“You Wayne?” the man called over the wind.

“That’s me.  Who are you?”

The man shook his head, “That’s not important.  What is important is that Mr. Dent sends his regards.  Do you have the money?”

Bruce took a step towards the trunk of the car before stopping, “I have it.  Where is Tim?”

The man walked to the back of the van, opened the door, and dragged Tim out of the cargo area.  Bruce’s eyes widened as he drank in the teen with his eyes.  His head was shaved, his hands were tied behind his back, but there was no doubt in Bruce’s mind that it was his third son.  A smile started to blossom on his face as the man untied Tim’s hands.  “Okay, you’ve seen him.  Where’s the money?”

“That wasn’t the deal,” Bruce called, his eyes not leaving Tim’s.  “Send him over, then you get the money.”

The man pushed Tim forward, and the teen walked hesitantly towards Bruce.  His eyes were wide, and Bruce got the idea that Tim was trying to develop telepathy in the next few seconds to let Bruce in on something important.  _Why is he taking so long to get over here?  He looks like something’s wrong._

Bruce took a step forward and embraced Tim, unable to wipe the smile from his face.  Tim didn’t return the embrace, scaring Bruce.  “My boy,” Bruce whispered, “Oh, my boy.”

“Stop it, Bruce.  Stop it right now,” Tim whispered to the man.  “Don’t ask any questions, just do what I tell you, exactly as I tell you.  Stop hugging me, and wipe that grin off your face.”

Bruce was shocked, “I don’t think I can, Tim,” he whispered.

“You have to,” Tim hissed insistently, “You’ll ruin everything if you don’t.  I can’t explain right now, just follow directions.  You are making a business deal, and you aren’t too happy about your end of the bargain.  Stop hugging me, take a step back, then slap me and say loud enough for him to hear that that is what I get for trying to escape from you.”

Confused, Bruce took a step back.  Tim met Bruce’s eyes and gave him a nearly imperceptible nod.  Bruce responded with a small shake of his head.  Tim gave the man the most serious look he could.  Resigned to the fact that he was not going to get anymore explanation, Bruce followed orders.

John, who had volunteered to make the exchange in order to see if Tim’s story was true, was not disappointed in the way Tim’s head snapped to the side at Bruce’s strike, nor the vehemence of Bruce’s declaration.

Even knowing that the blow was coming, and demanding that it come, did nothing to prepare Tim for Bruce to actually hit him.  The sound echoed in his ears for seconds afterwards as tears sprang to his eyes.  He saw Bruce’s resolve begin to crack at Tim’s reaction, and sent him the most reassuring look he could conjure.  It was hard, since he felt like he had created the monster that he was turning Bruce into.

Tim sniffled, his hand covering his stinging cheek as he whispered, “Good.  He’s going to ask for the money now.  Tell him that you really don’t think you should have to pay for me, as worthless as I am, but you made a deal.  Slide the case over to him.  While you do that, I’m going to try to make a run for it.  Chase me, push me around a bit, then lock me in the back seat.  Make sure he can see you setting the child locks on the door.  It’s almost over, Bruce.”

Bruce’s attention was torn away from Tim when he heard John say, “You haven’t paid for him yet, not too rough.  Let’s see the money, Wayne.”

Bruce walked to the trunk, hating what he had just done.  “You know.  He’s been nothing but trouble to me.  I really think you should be paying me to take him off your hands.  I’m only doing this because we had a deal.”  Bruce picked up the case and all but threw it at the other man.  As soon as the case hit the ground at John’s feet, Tim made his break.  Instinct took over, and Bruce tore off after the teen, catching him after only fifteen feet.  He grabbed Tim’s shirt, and couldn’t tell if he actually caused the reaction or if Tim was acting, but the sudden stop caused Tim’s feet to slip out from under him on the slick snow.  He landed hard on his side, and Bruce noticed several spots of red mixed in with the white covering the ground, as the teen’s elbow started bleeding from a minor cut.

Knowing he couldn’t be seen by John, Tim sent Bruce a pained smile, trying to encourage the man to continue.  Hating himself even more, Bruce picked up the teen roughly and shoved him back towards the car.  A second shove sent the teen sprawling back to the unforgiving ground, where Tim landed hard and gasped as the wind left him.  Bruce dragged Tim to his feet again and shoved him into the back seat, engaging the child locks before turning back to John.

While all that had been happening, John had returned to the van and pulled out a duffel bag.  He then opened the case and began transferring the money from the suitcase to the duffel bag.

“What, are you counting it?” Bruce asked, “Is this really the place for that?”

John smiled up at the billionaire, fully believing Tim’s story, now that he had seen it for himself.  “I just figured that this case was part of some set of matched luggage.  I would hate to break up a set.”

John emptied the suitcase, then threw the bag into the back of the van.  He kicked the case back to Bruce and said, “I guess the kid was right about you.  We’re done here, Wayne.  You kept your end of the bargain, the papers won’t hear about this.”  John threw Bruce a casual salute, more a touch to the forehead, as he got into the van and drove away.

Bruce watched the van go, then checked the case.  Unfortunately, the tracker the Alfred had secured in the luggage was the only thing remaining inside the suitcase.  He returned it to the trunk and got back into the car.

Tim was sitting in the back seat, softly crying.  He knew that everything Bruce did tonight was necessary for his escape.  He had been planning everything since the moment he knew he would be ransomed back to Bruce.  Unfortunately, all his planning didn’t prepare him for the actual moment when Bruce had to hit him.  _He did everything perfectly, why do I feel so hollow inside?  I’m safe, and the last thing Bruce wanted to do was hurt me.  Everything’s fine now, so why do I feel like everything’s falling apart?_

Bruce’s soft voice broke into his thoughts.  “Tim, son, I’m so sorry.  Why did I have to do that, son?  I don’t understand.  I hurt you.  I should never hurt you.”

Bruce’s hands wrapped around Tim’s own hands, and the teen flinched involuntarily.  Bruce pulled away guiltily, and Tim said in a shaky voice, “I-I’m sorry, Bruce.  I know I forced that on you.  It was necessary to keep my story straight.  I don’t hate you.  I made you do it; it’s my fault.  Drive, Bruce.  I want to go home.  Don’t stop anywhere, and don’t try to reach back here until we’re back at the manor.  I don’t know if they have anyone following us, watching.”

_I never even considered that,_ Bruce thought to himself.  He started the car and drove as fast as was legal back to the manor.  Tim was unnaturally quiet in the back seat, and Bruce hated himself for how guilty Tim sounded during his explanation.

Arriving back at the manor, Bruce pulled into the garage.  Once parked, he opened the door for Tim and took a nervous step back to allow the teen to get out of the car.  Tim looked warily up at Bruce for a handful of breaths before launching himself at the man and catching him in the tightest hug he could deliver.  The tears that stopped in the car came back full force, as everything tried to come out all at once.

“I’m so sorry, Bruce.  I’m so sorry.  It’s all my fault.  I never wanted you to do that, and even though I told you to do it, I wasn’t prepared for it.  It caught me off guard.  You did everything perfectly.  You sold it incredibly.  I’m so sorry I put you through this, Bruce.  God, I’ve missed you.”

“You don’t hate me?” Bruce asked, knowing it may have been a distinct possibility.

“No, Bruce.  Thoughts of you are what kept us going.  Thoughts of this moment, when I could be back here, with you, kept me on mission.  I love you, Bruce.  I love you.”

Bruce’s voice grew shaky, “Then why did we have to put on that show?  That was terrible, Tim.”

“It was the only thing I could think of at the time.  I said something I shouldn’t have, and you had to make it true.  You needing to act like that is the only thing that got me out of there alive, and you acting like that is going to preserve Damian’s cover.”

Bruce pushed Tim back to arm’s length to look him in the eye.  “So, Damian is still there, and his cover is still intact?”

“Yes, Bruce.  He’s safe now.  I don’t think Two Face suspects anything.  I covered for Damian as best I could.  It cost me my undercover identity, but he can continue.”  Tim saw a look of relief cross Bruce’s face, and smiled widely at the man for the first time in almost two months.

Bruce pulled Tim back in tight and said fiercely, “God, I missed you, son.”

Tim soon found himself the meat in a Wayne sandwich, as Dick came running into the garage to his father and brother.  No words passed between any of them for a long while, as they soaked in each other’s presence.

Finally, Alfred cleared his voice from the doorway and said, “Surely we can find a warmer place to have this reunion than this drafty garage.”

The three men separated reluctantly, sheepish smiles across their faces, and headed for the house.  Bruce kept an arm around Tim’s shoulders, as if he couldn’t believe his luck in getting his son back.

As they entered the house, Dick gasped and pointed at Tim’s arm.  “Timmy, you’re bleeding!  What did those monsters do to you?”

Bruce cringed and pulled Tim in tighter to his side as the teen said, “No, I slipped on the ice under the bridge.  It’s nothing, really.”

“It will have to be dressed, young man,” Alfred said, looking at the teen appraisingly, “And a good meal wouldn’t go amiss, would it?”

Tim’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food, and he looked up at the butler with a smile.  “You know me too well, Alfred.  Thanks.  I’d love a shower, too.”

Alfred sent a skeptical look to the reddened side of Tim’s face, where Bruce had slapped him, and said, “Hm, yes.  A shower and a full examination, followed by a full meal.  Go ahead, young sir.  I assume you can find your way back to your room?”

Tim smiled, “Of course.  It’s all I’ve thought about for weeks.”

Tim wasn’t surprised to find Bruce and Dick sitting on his bed when he got out of the shower.  He pulled on the heavy sweats Alfred had set out for him, then went digging in his closet and pulled out a knit cap.  Tugging it over his bald head, Tim smiled at the men before him.  Dick returned the smile, but Bruce looked guilty.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” Tim said quietly.

Alfred bustled into the room with his medical kit and set to examining Tim as thoroughly as possible.  Other than the small cut to his elbow, he was in mostly good health, but in need of several good meals.  Alfred set a plate of sandwiches on a folding table next to the bed and said, “While you work on those, why don’t you make your report and tell us what went on with your mission?”

“No,” Bruce said quietly but firmly, “Tim, tell me what happened to make that show at the meet necessary.  I’m sick over that, I need to understand why.”

Tim dropped his head as he sat next to the man and took a bite of a sandwich.  “I’m so sorry, Bruce.  If it makes it any easier, you were perfect.”

“No, it doesn’t make it any easier, Tim.  What happened?”

Tim took a deep breath and started in.  “This morning, John called me into his office.  Oh, John was the man driving the van.  He and Two Face were there.” Alfred gasped at the villain’s name.  Bruce hadn’t told him who sent the email.  “They found me out as your son.  We didn’t plan for that.  I never thought my connection to you would come out.  I didn’t have a story for why I was there, so I had to make something up, and make it believable.”

“How did they find out,” Dick asked.

“Facial recognition software.  They had a picture of me, like this, and one they must have got from the newspaper.  A shaved head and a little moustache wasn’t going to keep a computer algorithm from recognizing me.  Two Face couldn’t understand why the son of his old friend would be trying to hide at his school.”

Tim turned a pleading gaze to Bruce as he grabbed the man’s arm.  “I’m so sorry, Bruce.  I never meant for this to happen.  I had two seconds to come up with a plan that would not only save my butt, but ensure they had no reason to question Damian.  I…I told him that you weren’t the man he remembered, not the man seen in the media.  For me to be able to return to you, you had to become a manipulative monster, at least in Two Face’s eyes.

“It made me sick to do it, Bruce.  I hate what I had to tell him, but there was no other option.  You have to believe me.  Two Face knew too much about what he remembered you being.  He keeps up with the media.  I had to break his illusions, and I had to make it convincing.”

Dick and Bruce looked at each other.  Dick said, “Well, now we know what he meant by ‘dark side’ in the ransom email.  What did you tell him, Timmy?”

Tim’s face paled, and he looked close to throwing up at the thought of what he said.  Quietly, he recounted his lies.  “Well, Bruce, you have to control everything.  Everything has to be your way.”

Bruce smiled, “That’s not exactly a lie, Tim.”

“To the extent I had to take it, it is.  Two Face now thinks that you are blackmailing Alfred into working for you.  You love Dick so much, that when the rest of us couldn’t measure up to his standard, we had to be punished.  He asked about each of us.  He knew things he probably shouldn’t know.”

The smile fell from Bruce’s face, “What do you mean, punished?”

Tears made trails down Tim’s cheeks as he said, “He thinks Jason is dead.  I told him it was suicide, because he couldn’t stand not being able to measure up.  He believed the society page that said Damian was in France.  I had to convince him that Damian is at reform school, not art school, because he mouthed off to you.  Two Face asked about my apartment, and my job.  I had to tell him that my paychecks are funneled back into your accounts, and only you can access any of the accounts.  You also have security cameras covering every inch of my apartment, the manor, and Wayne Towers.  When he said he was going to ransom me back to you as a punishment for disrupting his plans, I had to play it up as the worst thing possible, that I thought you would kill me for running away.  That’s why you had to be angry at the meet.  That’s why you…you had to do everything I told you to do.  I’m not mad at you, Bruce.  I know it hurt you just as much as it hurt me, but it’s over now, and you never have to do anything like that again.”

Dick looked pained as he asked, “What did you do, Bruce?”

Bruce opened his mouth, but Tim turned on his older brother and said, “He followed my plan, exactly as I laid it out to him in the half-second I had to brief him.  He didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to do.”

Bruce placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder and said, “It’s okay, Tim.  They’ll find out eventually, we might as well tell them.  I had to make it appear that I wasn’t happy to see Tim.  I thought that would be that hardest part, until I had to slap him, yell at him, and push him around to sell the story.  It makes sense now, but I still hate it, Tim.”

“So do I,” Tim said as he laid back into the warm frame behind him.  Looking up into Bruce’s face, he said, “But, I don’t blame you for my plan, so please don’t blame yourself.  I know you didn’t want to do it.  I didn’t want you to do it, either, but it was necessary.”

Alfred took a closer look at Tim’s cheek.  The mark had faded completely, even though the butler imagined he could see the finger marks.  “Are you sure you are alright, Master Timothy?”

Tim grabbed the butler’s hand gently, “It was more of a shock than anything, but I’m fine now.”

Alfred took the empty tray from the room as Tim snuggled back into Bruce.

Dick leaned back and smiled at the sight of Tim back home.  He wanted to let them have their time, as Tim seemed to want nothing more than what he had at the moment, but the question at the back of his mind wouldn’t stay in the back.

“Is Damian okay?  I can’t think you would be here if he was in danger.”

Tim smiled at some memory obviously made within the last few weeks.  “He’s amazing, Dick.  I understand what you’ve been trying to convince me of for the past two years.  He was holding up so well.”

“What do you mean, ‘was’?” Bruce asked.

“It’s been such a long mission, Bruce.  Once we were taken into the school, we only saw each other every few days.  There was a lot of cold and hunger before that.  I don’t think he was ready for that.  I know I wasn’t.  I did everything I could to keep his cover intact.”

“What did you say?” Dick asked.

“Two Face was focused on me.  I figured that he didn’t know about Damian.  There are so few pictures of him that have made the papers, I thought I had a chance to keep him safe.  I told Two Face that he was some homeless kid I found on the streets, because if you were looking for me, you would be looking just for me.  Damian knows to try to contact us as soon as possible.”

Dick sat up, “We know who is in charge now, and I assume you can tell us where the school is.  Why don’t we just go and bust them now?”

Tim sat up as well, “As much as I want to get him out of there, we can’t just yet.  We are both convinced that there is something more going on there than just a training ground for future thieves and henchmen.  Everything there is so compartmented, it just feels like there is more there.  Give him some more time, at least a couple more days.  It took us weeks to work our way into a position where we could find out what little we did.  We need to watch for him to make contact with us.  Knowing him, it will be subtle.”

Bruce nodded, “Okay, Tim.  We’ll give him a few more days.  You need to get some sleep, son.”

Dick and Bruce got up to leave the room.  Tim followed them to the door.  Both were surprised when they turned back and Tim was right behind them.  “Tim, you should really get some sleep.”

“I know, Bruce, but for tonight, that isn’t happening in this bed.  Something Damian and I were talking about is going to come true.”

“What’s that,” Bruce asked.

“An early Christmas wish, even though we thought it up right before Thanksgiving.  I’m going with you, Bruce.  There is no way I’m not going to climb into your bed tonight, so I might as well start out there.  Damian and I both wanted to be warm, and comfortable, and not have any nightmares.  You’re the best one around here to make that happen.”

A soft smile landed on Bruce’s lips.  He wrapped an arm around Tim’s shoulders and said, “I guess it’s just about bed time, then.  Let’s try to grant that wish.”

 

**A/N: I would like to say that the last few paragraphs were written with comfort, and not slash, in mind.  Please don’t read it as such.  I hope you are all interested in seeing where this is going.  I hope the vision I have in my mind is able to work itself out in writing.  We’re getting close to halfway in this tale.  My current outline places this story as coming in at about 20 chapters, so there is plenty more to come.**

**Thanks for playing along, and I would love to hear your reactions to what has been let loose so far.**


	8. 8

School of Wrong

Chapter 8

 

“Hey, Rome.  Come in here for a minute.”

John waved the boy into his office and closed the door.  Rome had been searching for King.  He hadn’t seen his cousin since Sunday, and he wanted to see if the teen had found a way to get out of the school yet.  Figuring he had nothing to lose, Rome asked John.

“Hey, have you seen King?  I can’t find him anywhere.”

John looked vaguely uncomfortable as he said, “That’s what I want to talk to you about.  I think you have quite a bit to explain to me.  King is gone.”

Rome’s eyes widened, and his lower lip started to quiver.  “W-what do you mean, gone?”

John met Rome’s eyes with a deep, penetrating gaze, “Your cousin was not what he seemed.  He lied to us, and so did you.  I want to know why.”

The quiver became more pronounced.  “I didn’t lie to you.”

John looked frustrated.  “Look, Rome, I’m tired.  Just tell me the truth, okay?  I know you two aren’t related.  What is your real name?”

“R-Roman W-Walker.  I don’t get it; what’s going on?”

“Who is King?”

His eyes moist, Rome said, “My cousin, I swear.”

John leaned forward, and Rome flinched at the glare leveled at him.  “Stop lying, Rome.  Tell me what I want to know, and tell me the truth.  The man you called your cousin had some value.  So far, we can’t find anything on you that might be worth something to us.  Earn your place here, right here and now.”

_So, they broke Drake’s cover.  I wonder how they did it.  Whatever he told them, he obviously tried to keep my cover intact.  John said he had worth, I bet they ransomed him back to Father, but what would he say about our relationship?  I have to take a chance._

Rome took too long to answer, and John yelled out, “Answer me!  Who is King?”

Rome sat down hard in the chair next to him, not knowing it was the same chair Tim sat in several hours before.  He lowered his face and covered it with his hands.  Embarrassingly enough, he didn’t have to fake tears.  He would never admit it later, but he was terrified.

Rome blurted out, “I don’t know!  I don’t know who he really is; the only name I ever heard was Herod Jones, and he told me to call him King.  I was trying to get into a shelter when he found me.  He told me he could get me off the streets if I just played along with his story.  I-I thought he re-re-really cared for me.”

John sat down, the stories starting to come together.  He said in a calmer voice, “It’s okay, Rome.  Try to calm down, okay?  What happened to your parents?  Why were you on the streets?”

“Th-they’re in jail.  They were selling drugs out of our apartment.  The landlord caught them and tried to evict them.  D-dad shot him, and they both shot at the police when they came.”

John looked confused.  “The police just left you on the streets after your parents were arrested?”

Rome shook his head nervously, scared that the man had some way of checking on his story as he made it up.  “They left me with my grandmother.  I found her dead one morning, about a month after my parents went to jail.  I think she had a heart attack, or something, but I got scared.  I didn’t want the cops to blame me, so I ran.  I started living on the streets.”  Rome lifted his head, his eyes wide, “I just thought about it, my parents probably think I’m dead, too.”

John handed a tissue across the desk.  “How long have you known King?”

“I met him maybe three months ago.  He’s the first person who really seemed to care what happened to me.  Will…will I ever see him again?”

John sighed, “I doubt it, Rome.  His story is…complicated.  He won’t be back here, though.”

“Is he okay?  It’s just…he was nice to me.  Even if he was a liar, I don’t really want anything to happen to him.” Rome explained, hoping his concern sounded genuine.  He wasn’t used to expressing emotions, and hoped he was doing it right.

John examined Rome’s face for a long minute before answering.  “He was fine when I dropped him off last night.  I can’t guarantee he is still okay.  The guy he lives with, well…I don’t know what that guy’s going to do with him.  King really didn’t tell you anything about his past?”

_Probably throw him a party,_ Rome thought internally.  “No.  He didn’t ask about my past, and I didn’t ask about his.”

John nodded, then stood.  Rome stood to leave, and was very surprised when John placed a hand comfortingly on his shoulder.  Rome looked up at the gentle smile on John’s face as the man said, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out with him, but you still have a place here.  We’ll look out for you now.”

Rome sniffled, surprised at how reassuring that sounded.  “Thanks, John.”

Rome walked out of the office, his thoughts racing.  _Drake is gone.  I’m on my own.  We never figured that would happen.  Do I continue as we were going?  Do I look for a way out on my own?  Last we left it, we were looking for more than just the criminal program.  Should I keep looking, or will Batman be here soon, to shut this place down?  I need to find a way to contact them.  That’s what I’ll do.  I’ll continue looking, and try to get in touch with them.  There has to be a way._

_A week later…_

“Ah, come on!  What the hell!”

Dick stopped and turned in the hallway at the sounds of frustration coming from Tim’s room.  Sticking his head in through the open door, he spotted Tim sitting at his laptop, staring at the medieval scene before him.  He smiled, loving the sight of Tim sitting at his laptop.  _Now, if only Damian were sitting at his desk, drawing, everything would be perfect,_ Dick thought.  He was still adjusting to having Tim back, but the last five days had been heaven for Dick.

Dick took a couple steps into the room to watch over Tim’s shoulder.  He watched as the screen changed into a pre-rendered cut scene.  He smiled sickly as Tim’s character was graphically beheaded, with spurting jets of blood covering the screen, leaving the words ‘You Were Slayed’ the only area not covered in blood.

Tim huffed as he hit a key, but instead of respawning, as Tim expected, another cut scene came on screen, showing the avatar that had just dispatched his own, standing with its back to the screen and peeing on his dead avatar.  The cut scene ended and a prompt window, indicating a new message, popped up.

“Problem, Timmy,” Dick asked.

Tim ran his fingers over his head in frustration and said, “No, it’s just this game.  This same guy has been following me for a week.  Every time I stop, he kills me, whizzes on my corpse, then sends some kind of private message.”

Dick looked at the screen and said, “I don’t think I’ve seen this game before, little brother.”

Dick wrapped his arms around Tim’s slumping shoulders and rested his chin on the teen’s head.  Tim said, “Yeah, it’s called Battle Gate.  I started playing it while I was undercover at the school.  It was really popular there, and it was something to do in the down time.  I…I got a bit hooked on it.”

“Maybe it’s someone from the school?  Maybe they just want to talk.”  Dick pointed at the chat window, still flashing slowly on the screen.

“That’s impossible,” Tim shook his head, “I started a new account when I started playing it here.  I didn’t want any possible link between myself and the school.  I really shouldn’t be playing it at all, just because almost everyone I met at the school was playing it.  You know, just to be safe.”

Tim moved the cursor to hover over the ‘reject’ button, to deny the chat, before Dick stopped him.  “Why don’t you talk to him and find out what you did to piss him off so much that he’s been following you around for a week?”

Tim looked closer and read the message.  It was an invite to a private chatroom.  “Huh.  I never opened any of the messages before.  I wonder if they have all been private chat requests.”

Dick shrugged as Tim opened the request and hit the ‘accept’ button.  “It’s probably just some ten year old who just wants to be a dick online anonymously.  You know how the internet is.”

Tim paled as he read the first message that popped up in the window.  He was breathless as he said, “Close.  It’s a twelve year old, and I bet he would rather be talking _to_ a Dick online.  Go get Bruce, now!”

Dick looked confused as he read the message over Tim’s shoulder from player DAGnasty:  _It’s about time you responded to one of my messages, Drake.  I’ve only been following you for a week now._

Dick ran from the room as Tim shakily typed a response: _Rome?_

A few seconds later, a new message appeared: _I’m alone, and I’ve taken precautions to secure the computer.  Under increased scrutiny, can’t talk long._

Tim typed: _You safe?”_

Another tense handful of seconds passed before the next response came: _For now.  We need to start thinking extraction soon, though._

As Tim was typing his response, another message popped up: _Got to go.  I’ll try to contact you again soon._

The chat ended with a low beep as Dick and Bruce came sprinting into the room.  Tim turned to meet their expectant faces and said quietly, “Sorry, Bruce, you just missed him.  He had to log off.”

Tim turned back to the computer and made a screen capture of the chat window and printed a copy.  While his printer spat out a sheet of printed text, Tim added player DAGnasty to his friends list.  Bruce looked crestfallen as he took the single sheet from the print tray and read it over several times.

Taking a deep breath, and looking a bit misty, Bruce said, “He’s okay.  He’s safe.”

Dick took the sheet and read it while Bruce patted Tim on the shoulder appreciatively.  Dick looked up and said, “For now, at least.  How do we get him out?  What was the original plan?”

Tim looked over and said, “The plan was that we get you enough actionable intel for you to have taken the school down by now.  We get the intel, you two come in, and we slip away in the confusion.  Two Face has everything so compartmentalized, though, that we could hardly get anything before I was made.”

Bruce’s pat turned into a firm, reassuring grip.  “It wasn’t your fault, Tim.  It was mine.  I used you, even though I knew it would be hard to conceal your identity.  Taking a while to find anything just shows that Two Face planned far ahead for…whatever he’s doing.”

“No, Bruce,” Tim sighed, “You used me to keep your son safe.  Now, he’s out there, all alone.  Some help I was.”

Bruce placed both hands on Tim’s shoulders and looked deeply into the teen’s eyes.  “I used both of you, so that you would keep each other safe.  You both did your jobs as best as you could.  You had to sacrifice yourself to keep the spotlight off him.  He’s picking up where you left off.”

Tim looked away, “Yeah, but he shouldn’t have to, Bruce.  I just don’t feel like I did enough to protect him.”

“He’s alive, Tim.  You did plenty.”

Dick spoke up from Tim’s bed, “You got him in a position to complete the mission.  I don’t know how he’s been able to keep his cover, but he has.  Now, he’s made contact.  We just have to wait for him to report in again.”

Tim and Bruce both looked at Dick and said at the same time, “I hate waiting.”

Dick had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing, but he couldn’t kill the smile that the synchronous answer caused.  “So do I, but that is all we can do right now.”

Tim took the sheet and read over the conversation again.  “Bruce, I’m not sure we should wait any longer.  He’s asking about extraction.  You know he doesn’t complain about anything work-related unless he’s being excluded.  He may just be lonely and ready to come home, but he also may feel like he is close to being discovered.”

“If there’s one thing I know about Damian, it’s that he wouldn’t beat around the bush if he needed us to come get him.  It would have been the first thing in the chat.  He said he would make contact again soon, we just have to watch for it.”  Bruce felt he was grasping at straws as he came up with an answer that sounded far more assured than he felt.

“How much longer do we give him, Bruce,” Dick asked.  “We know where the school is.  We know who is running the school.  We know the school is behind the crime spree.  What else do we need to make a move?”

Bruce closed his eyes as he took a deep breath.  “I would like to be able to catch at least one of the crimes being committed.  Then we would be able to learn a little more, and from someone who wasn’t planted in the school.  The information you gave us was invaluable, Tim, but you weren’t in a position where the school was your only hope of survival.  I want to hear what one of those students has to say.”

Tim turned his chair away from his father and brother and dropped his head as he said, “Bruce, Damian and I swore to never tell you this, but it really felt like the school _was_ our only hope for survival.”

Bruce lifted a shaky hand, but stopped before touching the teen’s slightly shaking shoulder.  “W-what do you mean, son?”

Tim sighed before speaking softly, “We were completely in character out there, Bruce.  We didn’t have a safety net.  We…we saw, for a few weeks, what it’s really like to live on the streets.  I, for one, will never take anything you have given me for granted again, Bruce.  By the time we found the school recruiter, we were down to trying to survive on maybe two or three meals a week.  Gotham soup kitchens run out of food early.  If we didn’t get there on time, we didn’t eat.  Damian lost so much weight before we got to the school.  I felt like such a failure, that I couldn’t keep him fed, that I had to steal to eat.  I didn’t start robbing convenience stores to fit in at the school, I started to be able to put something in Damian’s stomach.

“We got caught in that nasty storm, Bruce.” Bruce and Dick gasped.  It was the first time they had heard this.  Tim continued, “We found our way back to the recruiter on the third day of the storm.  If we hadn’t been able to get to his apartment that night, I was going to call the mission a failure and try to get you to pick us up.  We got lucky, the recruiter was home.  He got us out of the storm, let us get dry and warm, he fed us, and let us sleep the night there before going up to the school.  By that time, I was so grateful for something going our way, I was ready to do anything for the school.

“I know a little bit of what those other students went through before they got picked up and taken to the school.  I understand wanting to hear their story first-hand, Bruce, but it’s not necessary.  I was on the streets for a little over a month.  I don’t want to imagine what those kids went through, the ones who were out there for years.  They will fight for the school, because it is the first place that has cared for them.  In fact, just before I was uncovered, Damian and I were asked to help train the students to fight.  If he is keeping his cover, Damian has spent the past week helping these young criminals become fighters.”

Tim turned back to the room in time to be engulfed by both Dick and Bruce.  They held him for several minutes, and it was a surreal feeling for Tim, being the solid one in the embrace.  Bruce whispered in a shaky voice, “I wish you hadn’t had to go through that, son.  I also wish you hadn’t had to tell me about it.  The next time he contacts us, whether he asks for extraction or not, we’re going to get him.  I hate the thought of leaving him out there any longer, but every minute he’s out there, he’s getting more information we can use to take down Two Face.”

Dick pulled back to arm’s length and said, “Also, if he’s still in character, every minute he’s at the school is another minute he’s spending training those little thieves to be able to fight us.”

Bruce grew a distraught look as he said thoughtfully, “That is a scary thought.  The combination of my training and the League of Assassins training, flooding the streets of Gotham.  This crime spree just got far more dangerous.”

Tim smirked at Bruce and said, “The fact that you’re scared of the prospect tells me that Damian will be okay, at least for a few more days.”

Bruce nodded, “We’ll give him until next Tuesday.  If we haven’t heard anything by then, we’ll plan an infiltration of the school.”

Dick looked dumbfounded, “Another three days, Bruce?  I don’t want to leave him there that long.”

Tim spoke up, “On the other hand, given the weeks it took us to find out anything, three days may not be long enough.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully.  “Okay, we’ll play it by ear for now, but we will definitely circle back to the subject on Tuesday.” Bruce checked his watch, then said, “Come on, it’s almost time for dinner.  Let’s be early, for once, and give Alfred the news that Damian made contact.”

Tim looked excited, “Yes, food.  Then, tonight, we all patrol together.”

Bruce stopped at the top of the stairs.  He grabbed Tim’s shoulders again and said, “Sorry, Tim.  You’re not patrolling tonight.  You still aren’t back to full health yet.”

“Bruce,” Tim almost whined, “I’m getting bored just waiting for you every night.  I want to be out there.”

“Don’t argue, Tim.  Leslie says you’re still ten pounds below your pre-mission weight.  You just started working out again yesterday.  Give yourself some time to build your muscle back up.  I don’t want any accidents out there.”

Dick rubbed the tennis ball fuzz on the teen’s head and said, “Why don’t you wait until you have a little more up top here to hold your cowl up.  You should really stop shaving your head, now that this part of the mission is over for you.”

Tim swiped angrily at Dick’s hand, “I haven’t shaved it in weeks.  It’s too cold to be bald.”

Dick and Bruce gave each other a joking look over Tim’s head, “Um…Tim?  There isn’t a history of baldness in your family, is there?”

Tim’s angry look dissolved into one of worry as he said, “No, why?  Is it not all growing back?  Tell me there isn’t a bald spot, please.”

Bruce tried his best to keep from laughing as he looked critically at the teen’s head.  “Well, not exactly a bald spot, but I would have thought it would have grown in a little more by now.  I mean, I can still see scalp.  Dick, maybe you can stop and pick up some Rogaine somewhere while you’re on patrol tonight?”

“Master Timothy, you do not need Rogaine.  Shame on you for scaring the poor boy, Master Bruce.” Alfred’s voice only held a small percentage of the anger that Bruce thought it might otherwise have held if the butler hadn’t spoken to Bruce about the very same topic yesterday.  “Your dinner is prepared, gentlemen.”

As they descended the stairs, smiling, Bruce patted Tim’s back and said, “You may not need Rogaine, but the moustache has to go before you go back on patrol.  It would show under your cowl.  No identifying marks, remember?”

Tim sighed, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.  I can’t very well invade the school with you while wearing King’s moustache.  It would be too noticeable.  It’s just nice to have noticeable hair growing somewhere on my head again.”

They sat at the table and tucked in to Alfred’s gourmet meal.  It hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice that every meal over the past five days could have come straight from a list titled ‘Tim’s favorite meals’.  Fortunately, tonight’s pork chops could also be listed among the other diner’s favorites, as well.  During the meal, they informed Alfred of the evening’s discovery, and let him read the transcript of the short conversation.

As the meal wound down, Tim broached the subject again.  “Okay, Bruce, if I’m not patrolling again yet, what am I doing?  I’m not just going to sit back and watch movies while you two go another night without catching any of those little crooks.”

“No,” Bruce replied, “You’re going to sit in your room and watch that game.  If Damian tries to make contact again, I want you there, ready to talk to him, to let him know that we’re coming.  Let him know…” Bruce swallowed hard, thinking about his absent son, “Let him know I’m proud of him, and I want him back.”

Tim swallowed just as hard.  “I can do that, dad.”

 

**A/N: I hope this chapter works.  It was going somewhere else when I first planned it, but this is where it led.  Hang on for the next chapter, we will get some good action to counter all the emotions and sappiness that have been hanging around.**

**I know it is a very obscure reference, but Damian’s character name of DAGnasty was done in the hopes that Tim would recognize him in the game.  If you still don’t get it, don’t worry.  It took me a long time to come up with it, but DAG is supposed to stand for ‘Damian Al Ghul’.  Yes, I know, obscure.  It’s no wonder Tim didn’t get it either.**

**Hope you are all still enjoying this.  Thanks for playing along.**


	9. 9

School of Wrong

Chapter 9

 

John walked towards the garage, thinking about the last week at the school.  Finding out that the most promising students at the school weren’t who he thought they were was a blow.  Losing King, or Tim, as he guessed he should refer to him now, had caused ripples of discontent to surge through the students.  It had taken days for the rumblings and suppositions to calm down.  In fact, only through Rome’s ability to continue following the school program, had the final grumblings died down.

The ex-military man entered the garage and found four pairs of students, clad head to toe in their signature gray uniforms and helmets.  The students lined up and stood at attention as he approached, eight helmeted gazes following his every move.

_I wonder who is on tonight.  I didn’t look at the schedule of jobs to see who we are sending out tonight.  I hope they’re careful.  This is going to be the last set for a while.  If we can get this last set of jobs done without complications, then we can get the kids some rest._

John looked down the line of masked faces, standing in front of the four identical white vans that were to serve as their getaway vehicles tonight.  As always, the drivers were already ensconced in their seats.  It was a rule that the students and drivers were to not know each other’s identities, in case either set were caught, there was very little they could reveal to the police.  They had audio communication, but that was only used in emergencies.

“Listen up, everyone.  This is important.  Tonight is going to be the last set of jobs for a while.  It’s getting too dangerous out there for us.  We have reports of convenience store owners arming their cashiers in the event that we show up.  The police have increased patrols, and we even have rumors that Batman has called in extra help to try to catch any of you.  If things continue, the police will start internal bounties on your heads.  That means the police will be doing everything to catch any of you, because they will get a bonus in their pay for every gray helmet brought in.  Now, our spies tell us that it hasn’t come to that yet, but it has been suggested.

“We’ve done our research on tonight’s targets.  They should be easy grabs.  Get your jobs done, and get back here as soon as possible.  After tonight, it’s a long vacation for all of us.  If you can pull it off, we will have a one hundred percent success rate in jobs, a great accomplishment.  I’m proud of all of you.  You have been very brave, and you’ve shown great skill.  You are ready for more, and you will get it soon.  After tonight, we will start training you for more difficult missions.  Good luck out there.  Be safe, remember your training, but don’t take any unnecessary chances.  Load up, and let’s get this over with.”

Eight heads nodded once at the impassioned speech.  The young criminals silently turned as one and entered the back of their assigned vans.  As they pulled out of the garage, John thought silently, _be careful, my boys._

_Meanwhile, across town…_

“You really shouldn’t do that, you know.”

Nightwing walked up from behind Batman as the vigilante turned his head to send a glare at his son.

“I’m observing the city,” he growled in a low tone.

“You’re brooding.  You want to know how I can tell that you’re brooding?  I’ve been standing here for five minutes, watching you.  You had no idea I was here.  Jason was right, you _are_ slipping.”

Batman stood to his full, intimidating height and stalked towards Nightwing.  “I’ll have you know that I was performing some very important surveillance, the consequences of which…”

Nightwing interrupted with a grin, “You were staring at a gargoyle.  Is that your secret informant?”

Batman could make no argument, he was caught, and he knew it.  Nightwing continued.  “I’m worried about him, too.  You got one back, you’ll get the other one back soon.”

Batman lowered his cowled head and said softly, “I want him back now, tonight.” He sighed heavily and met Nightwing’s masked eyes, “Tell me I’m doing the right thing, leaving him there.  A small part of me wants to trust that he can get out of anything, but most of me wants to find that school and tear it apart, piece by piece, until I find him.”

Nightwing placed a hand on Batman’s shoulder and said, “Red Robin said to give him more time.  He made contact once, he will again.  You trained him well, he knows what to do.  He’s not going to take any unnecessary chances out there.”

Batman whispered, “He’s so small.  He’s too young to be out there on his own.  I never should have sent him in on this.”

Gripping both of Batman’s shoulders now, Nightwing said, “That’s why you sent Red with him.  But…you knew this was a possibility.  He’s more ready than you give him credit for.  Remember, he’s been going out in the world and completing complicated missions on his own since before you even knew he existed.”

“I know,” Batman sighed exasperatedly, “He shouldn’t have to, though.” Batman looked out at the lights of the city he called home.  “Why couldn’t I have given any of you a normal life?”

Nightwing whispered from very close to Batman’s ear, “Because normal is boring.  The life you gave us is far more interesting, and far fuller, than a normal life, and none of us would trade it for anything.”

A burglar alarm pierced the night, causing both vigilantes to swivel their heads in the direction of the cry for help.  “Come on,” Nightwing said with a smile, “let’s get your mind off your troubles by investigating someone else’s troubles.”

Batman nodded once, and the original Dynamic Duo disappeared into the night.

Landing outside a convenience store a short time later, they were met by a frantic, apron-clad clerk.  The man ran out of the store the second he saw Batman touch down and almost yelled, “Oh, good, Batman, you’re here.  You have to catch them.  This is the third time they’ve robbed us.  They ran off that way, not two minutes ago.  Get them, please.”

Nightwing looked in the direction the man was pointing and caught movement several blocks away.  He took off running, chasing the hint of gray he saw round a corner while Batman got a short description of the perpetrators.  It matched the school uniforms, and he followed in the air, swinging from building to building.

Seeing nothing after a couple minutes, he keyed his radio.  “Nightwing?” He asked.

Nightwing answered in a slightly panting voice as he continued to chase on foot.  “North on 175th.  I’m about three blocks behind them, and gaining.”

“Stay on them.  I’ll be there in a minute.”

A minute later, Nightwing came back over the radio, “East on Cleveland Avenue.  Damn, they’re fast.”

“Don’t lose them.  This is the closest we’ve come.”  Batman changed direction to try and cut off their flight from the crime scene.  Batman soared down Cleveland Avenue just in time to see Nightwing take a sharp left, several blocks ahead.  “Nightwing?”

“Alleyway, heading towards Eisenhower.  Nope, passed Eisenhower.  Sticking to the alley.  They know I’m back here, they keep looking back to see if I’m still chasing them.”

Batman tried to anticipate their next move, and bypassed Eisenhower.  He found where the alleyway emptied onto Addams Boulevard and waited.  In the distance, the vigilante saw the thieves approaching.  _Sorry, you gave a good chase, but I have you now,_ Batman thought.

No sooner had he had that thought than he started pelting down the alley.  The gray-suited criminals took a turn on to Truman Street, and he sprinted to make sure he didn’t lose sight of them again.  He hit the north side of the street as Nightwing exited his alley on the south side of the street, a block and a half behind their quarry.

“This isn’t my idea of a fun evening, Batman,” Nightwing gasped out.

Batman smirked at his sweating son, “They’re just children, Nightwing.  We’ll wear them down soon.”

“Before or after they wear _us_ down?”

Batman rolled his eyes behind his lenses.  “Just shut up and run, will you?”

Once again, the fleeing criminals turned down an alley.  Batman said, “Nightwing, turn here.  Try to get ahead of them.  I’ll stay on their tail.”

Nightwing disappeared from his side, and Batman continued on the trail of the thieves.  Batman turned down the alley he saw them turn down just in time to see one of the gray-suited robbers deliver a truly vicious flying kick to Nightwing.  He watched as his oldest son hit the ground, and winced at the hard landing.  No matter how many times he had seen it, it still hurt him to see Dick take a hit like that.

Angry, Batman ran down the alley to join in.  He made it almost to the fight when a steel trash can lid was sent flying in his direction, narrowly missing the vigilante’s head.  _Does this idiot know what he’s doing,_ Batman thought as the small criminal dove at him from the top of a dumpster.  Batman caught the young villain and redirected his flight path into the side of another dumpster.  The crook hit hard, the steel of the receptacle ringing from the impact, and lay on the ground moaning.

Batman turned to help Nightwing, who was back on his feet and dodging haphazardly thrown punches and kicks.  The elder vigilante took a step forward when a cry erupted from behind him.  Before he could turn back, a weight landed on his back as an arm latched tightly around his throat.  The crook wasn’t heavy, not by Batman’s weight lifting standards, but the surprise of the attack combined with the full weight of his adversary being used to try to deprive the oxygen and blood flow from his brain, caused Batman to stagger back and gasp for breath.

Batman let himself fall backwards, figuring the attacker would be smart enough to jump off before being crushed under the larger man’s bulk.  He wasn’t.  A second before Batman hit the ground, he wondered just how much of the small crook would be left when he got up again.  The arm stayed tightly wrapped around his throat until the full weight of the costumed man crashed down on the small figure.  To his credit, at least in Batman’s eyes, the small form didn’t cry out as the wind left the small body beneath him.  Finally after a few seconds, the thin, but strong, arm retracted from the vigilante’s neck.  Batman sprang to his feet, but his opponent stayed down.

Batman returned his attention to Nightwing again, but soon saw that it was unnecessary.  Nightwing had things well in hand with the obviously novice fighter.  The disguised criminal launched a side kick at Nightwing.  Instead of blocking or dodging, Nightwing caught the leg and used it to swing the criminal around towards his left, towards the gray crook’s back side.  Off balance, the skinny villain stumbled towards the street, trying to maintain his balance.  His stumble sent him crashing head first into a steel light pole, his helmet making a resounding, metallic gong as his head hit the pole.  The criminal sank slowly to the cold concrete of the sidewalk, obviously unconscious.

Nightwing turned, smiled at Batman, and said, “Well, that was fun…AAAHH!”

A screaming, gray blur hit Nightwing at full speed, knocking him to the cold ground.  Before Batman could let out the short snort of laughter the movie-caliber timing of the attack almost caused him to let loose, the second thief, who Batman thought had been out of the fight several minutes before, began raining frantic blows down at Nightwing’s head.  The former Robin was able to block all of them, but the speed and intensity of the assault allowed him to do nothing but defend.

Batman walked over and grabbed the back of the gray jumpsuit and yanked the small form off of Nightwing.  The thief rolled away, but came up in a definite fighting stance.

Nightwing rose, anger coursing through every fiber of his being.  “You know, Batman.  This guy wants a fight.  Let’s give him one.”  As the last word left his mouth, Nightwing cartwheeled at the smaller form, throwing a punch as he passed.  The blow was expertly deflected, allowing time for Batman to close the distance and launch a roundhouse kick that, if it landed, had the power to remove the helmeted head from the jump-suited shoulders.  It missed, as the half turned youth ducked at the last possible second.  Nightwing launched a low sweep, designed to send the youth to the ground.  The gray-clad youngster leapt straight up, over the sweep, and sent a return kick to Nightwing’s chest.

The younger vigilante took a step backwards, impressed, as Batman pressed the advantage, throwing hard punches, one after another.  Most were either blocked or dodged, but two made it through the impressive defense the youth was putting up.  The criminal staggered back, holding a hand over his chest, where the last blow had landed.

On the ropes, the thief threw himself sideways into a roll that took him away from the marauding Batman.  He sprang to his feet, a bit more slowly than he had before, in time to raise his left arm to block an incoming kick from Nightwing.  The former professional acrobat changed the angle of his kick, and contacted the blocking arm with the steel toe insert of his boot.  A distinct snap and crunch could be heard as the boot snapped the bone in the youth’s wrist.  The criminal staggered back after crying out in pain and clutching the now-broken wrist to his stomach protectively.  Nightwing saw the blow have the intended effect and couldn’t stop a delighted cackle from escaping his lips.  The gray mask snapped to his attacker’s face as the smaller combatant backed away slowly.  Still enraged, Batman grabbed the smaller form around the throat, lifted the youth with one hand, and slammed him to the ground.

Kneeling over the form, Batman waited until the mask turned slowly in his direction before letting the sneer he truly felt work its way across his face.  Raising his gauntleted hand, he sent it powerfully into the mask below him, the fist nearly as big as the face it was hitting.  On the third strike, he heard and felt the mask crack, and saw a small trail of blood work its way out from under the collar.

Batman stood up panting, as Nightwing approached and said, “I think you got him.”  They silently zip-tied the criminals as a police cruiser pulled up to the scene.  Batman spoke to the responding officer while Nightwing helped load both unconscious criminals into the car.

Halfway down the block, but within easy viewing distance of the entire fight, unseen by either vigilante or police officer, a white van slowly drove away.

 

**A/N: Well, I promised action.  I hope you aren’t disappointed.  I really had this epic fight pictured in my head.  I hope I did it justice in the written word.  Chapter 10 will be up in just a few minutes, with an immediate follow up to this bit of action.**

**Stay tuned, there’s plenty more to come.**


	10. 10

School of Wrong

Chapter 10

 

Batman and Nightwing entered the Gotham Police Building in a most unusual way for the former Dynamic Duo; they walked in the front door.  The Desk Sergeant jumped as he looked up at the vigilantes, standing on the opposite side of the bulletproof window.

“Can…Can I help y-you?”

Batman leaned in, intimidating the man who sat behind the inch-thick plate, “The Commissioner is expecting us.  You can let us in, now.”  Nightwing smirked behind Batman’s back.

The man was only too happy to push the buzzer to unlock the security door and allow the crime fighters to enter; whatever it took to not have to face down that glare again.

Shaking his head as they entered the station, Nightwing called out, “Thanks, Sarge!” before the heavy portal slammed closed.

Walking up the hallway, Nightwing commented, “Batman, I thought we were supposed to be making nice with the police?”

Batman tried to put on an innocent look, which didn’t work with the cowl in place, “I am being nice.  I could have had us break in through the roof, or thrown a sonic grenade to shatter his safety glass.”

Nightwing shook his head again, grumbling, “…And I suppose you programmed the suit to give you an electric shock if you even thought about saying ‘please’ or ‘thank you?’”

This time, Batman did smirk, “That’s not such a bad idea.”

“Oh, boy.  We need to work on your people skills, Batman.”

“I’m the Dark Knight, remember?  Not the Jolly Knight.  Do you know how hard I had to work to earn my reputation back after your little stint in my suit from a couple years ago?  What were you trying to do to me, anyway?”

Nightwing sighed, “I was hoping that it would make patrols a bit easier if the public weren’t just as afraid of us as they are of the criminals.  Even you have to admit that it helped.  We get a lot more support now than we used to around here.”

Batman hesitated for a second before saying, “…There’s the Commissioner.”

As Batman walked away, Nightwing shook his head and said, “You’re not going to answer me, are you?”

Commissioner Gordon was standing in the hallway between two interrogation rooms, waiting for Batman to show up.  “Good, you made it.  I was hoping it wouldn’t be too long, at least not after the report that you called in.”

Batman barely inclined his head in greeting, “Evening, Commissioner.  Which one’s which?”

“Down to business as always, I see.  The taller one is in room one, the shorter one is in room two.”

Batman interrupted, “Wait, that’s all you can tell me?  You didn’t get identification on them yet?”

Gordon shook his head, “We have done nothing but inform them of their rights and put them in separate rooms.  Your report made it sound like you wanted to be the one to perform the interrogations.  Tell me the truth, Batman.  Did these two obviously young criminals actually attack you and Nightwing?”

“Not the best idea they’ve ever had, I wouldn’t think,” Nightwing said, looking into the first interrogation room.

Tight-lipped, Batman answered, “Yes, they did.”  Batman was unwilling to go into any more details of their recent fight.  Batman was disturbed that these juveniles had thought so little of their own safety as to launch a full-frontal assault on the Dynamic Duo.  He was also impressed that they had done so well, the smaller of the two even managed to land a couple punches to Batman and a kick to Nightwing. 

What was most impressive to Batman was how the criminals kept getting up.  He admired their adherence to training and discipline, even though it had forced Batman and Nightwing to fight dirty.  They both knew the criminals were just children; from their size, they couldn’t be more than teens.  The thinking was, if they could put enough of a hurting on the young crooks, they might reconsider the future path they were walking.

Seeing Batman’s train of thought, Nightwing said, “Let me guess; you want me to take the taller one while you take the shorter one, right?”

Batman nodded, “The shorter one seemed to be in charge, so it’s only right that I interrogate him.”

Smirking, Nightwing said, “…You always have to rub it in, don’t you?”

Commissioner Gordon choked out a snicker as the Dynamic Duo entered their separate interrogation rooms.

Nightwing entered room number one to find his captive.  The teen sitting at the table had removed his helmet and was rubbing the back of his head.  Nightwing could see a large bump forming under the boy’s fingers, obviously from where his head had collided with the light pole.  _He’s younger than I thought he would be_ , Nightwing thought as the teen raised his head to regard the new arrival.  The seated boy gasped and rocked back in his chair as the vigilante approached the table, terrified that the masked man was here to finish the job.

As the chair slipped past the tipping point, Nightwing ran around the table and caught the falling boy before he could add another injury to the night’s total.  “Hey, relax!  You’re safe now.  So long as you don’t start attacking again, I have no reason to hurt you, or to want you hurt.  Just relax, okay?”

The teen glanced warily at the man as the chair was righted.  Still being watched, Nightwing walked away and sat in the chair opposite the now-confused criminal.  “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot; let’s start over, okay?  Hello, my name is Nightwing.  What’s your name?”

The boy seated opposite the hero blinked twice before bursting into tears and trying to bury his head in his arms on top of the table.  Nightwing nodded slowly as he observed the emotionally broken kid in front of him.  He got up and went to the door.  Cracking it open a couple inches, Nightwing asked, “Commissioner, can we get some water in here, please?”

Commissioner Gordon turned at the sounds of sobbing coming from behind Nightwing.  “That’s odd, I would have bet that Batman’s would be the first to cry.  There must be a dark side to you that we don’t know about, Nightwing.”  A high-pitched, guttural scream came from Batman’s interrogation room, causing both men to flinch.  “Then again, maybe making a suspect cry isn’t the worst thing in the world.  Water is on its way.”

A minute later, a knock on the door caused the now silent teen to jump.  Nightwing opened the door and took the two paper cups from the officer.  Looking beyond the young man, Nightwing saw the Commissioner had opened the blinds over the two-way mirror to the second interrogation room.  Beyond the Commissioner, Nightwing could see Batman standing, leaning over the table, as a glimpse of the back of a shaggy head could be seen darting out of sight.  Nightwing felt for the obviously younger boy.  If the room was similar to his own, then the boy had darted off to huddle in the corner.  _Geez, Bruce, go easy in there.  After that scream, it’s a wonder the Commissioner didn’t send a SWAT team to pull you out of there._

Returning to his own subject, Nightwing set both paper cups in front of the boy and sat down.  Sniffling, the teen hesitantly took the first one and swallowed it in two gulps.  He eyed the second one, then Nightwing, then the cup again.

“Go ahead, kid.  It’s yours.”

“You sure you don’t want it, Mister?” came the suspicious response.

Smiling, Nightwing said, “I think you need it more than I do.”  The boy picked it up and sipped at it.

_I guess I should get started, then._   Nightwing leaned forward an inch, not wanting to spook the frightened teen, “Tell me, kid: What’s your name?  I can’t just call you ‘kid’ or ‘sport’ or ‘tiger’ all night.”

The boy paled, “A-All night?”

Nightwing sighed, closing his eyes behind his mask.  _Right, nervous youth.  Probably his first time in serious trouble._   “It’s a figure of speech, kid.”

“Oh…oh, right.  Um…Tommy, but…I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

_Tommy…Thomas, it’s a good thing I took this one.  Bruce would have a cow if he knew this kid had the same name as his father.  So long as the other one isn’t named Martha, Bruce should be okay.  However, that hair I saw was kinda long._   “Okay, Tommy.  Why aren’t you supposed to talk to me?”

The boy took a deep breath, like he was preparing to violate a sacred oath.  “They said…they said you aren’t really here to help Gotham.  If you were really trying to help Gotham, then you would help get the kids off the streets, like the school does.  They said that if you aren’t here to help Gotham, then we shouldn’t help you.”

“Where were you before you went to the school?”

Tommy looked sad as he said, “I went wherever I could find food.”

_I think I’m getting somewhere now._   “Where is your family, Tommy?”

The teen looked down at the table, a tear dripping onto the abused, wooden surface, and whispered, “They’re gone.  I never knew mom.  Dad said she died giving birth to me.  He tried to keep us together, he tried his best.  Then…we got evicted when the urban renewal initiative was approved.  We tried shelters, but those places are worse than the streets.  Plus, they kept kicking us out when they learned that dad still had a job.  Well, dad was trying to take care of me, and he started missing work, and they fired him for trying to care for his son.”

Nightwing cringed, still uncomfortable with these stories even after hearing them for over a decade.  “I’m sorry, Tommy.  Truly, I am.  Where is your dad now?  Maybe I can talk the Commissioner into letting him pick you up.”

Tommy scoffed, “Yeah, right.  You’re going to send me to juvy.  You have to, you caught me robbing a store.  You and Batman claim to uphold the laws; well, I broke the law, so you are just going to throw me in the system and forget about me.  Tomorrow morning, I’ll just be a number, and you’ll forget about me.”

“Yes, Tommy, Batman and I uphold the law, but the law isn’t always black and white.  Talk to me a little, and I promise, I will let you see your dad before any judgement is passed.  Is this your first offense?”

Tommy nodded as he took another sip of water, “Yes.”

Nightwing smiled, “Then, believe it or not, you are walking out of this building, just as soon as you have had the proper medical care for your injuries, which I am sorry about.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Tommy, how old are you?”

“F-fifteen, Mr. Nightwing.”

“Fifteen, great.  That means that this little interview won’t affect the rest of your life.  When you turn eighteen, your juvenile record will be sealed, and it will be like this night never happened.”

Tommy looked cautiously optimistic.  A small smile started to tweak the edges of his lips.  Then, the look crashed back into one of misery.  “What good will that do?  Don’t you get it?  Where else can I go, other than to juvy or back to the school?”

“I told you I would help you find your dad.  Do you know where he is?”

Fresh tears blossomed in Tommy’s eyes, “Yes, he’s in Oak Park Cemetery, right next to mom.”  The boy set his head back down on his arms as new sobs shook his body.  Nightwing placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on Tommy’s arm.  The teen flinched at the contact, but then accepted it in the manner in which it was intended.

When the teen had cried himself out, Nightwing whispered, “There are always other options than turning to a life of crime when bad things happen in life.  If you want an example, well…just look at me.  I…I lost my parents, too.  I was lucky enough to have a great man help me out.  Just because you didn’t have that same luck, doesn’t mean you have to throw everything away.  If you will accept my help, I can get you into another program that I’ve worked with before.  They can help you, Tommy; you don’t have to go back to the school.  You especially don’t have to go back if they’re making you steal for them.”

Tommy lifted his head, but didn’t look up, “They didn’t make me do anything.  I had my choice of entering the advanced program.  If I said no, I still would have had a place in the regular school, but…they did so much for me.  They got me off the streets, out of the cold.  They feed me, gave me new clothes, I get to attend an actual school.  So, of course, when they offered me a way to give a little something back, to repay them a bit for what they have done for me, I had to say yes.  Do…do I have a choice of going back to the school?”

_…And that’s all I’m going to be able to get out of him._   “Yes, Tommy.  I’ll let the Commissioner know how helpful you’ve been, and request you be taken back to the school, if that’s what you want.  Please, try to remember something, though: Batman and I _are_ here to help Gotham, but we’re only two men.  We can’t fix everything, but what we are able to do has always been in the best interest of the city.  We will always help those in need when we can.  So remember, if you ever see us on the streets again, we are there to help.”

“O…okay, Mr. Nightwing.”

Nightwing walked to the door and beckoned the Commissioner over.  “Commissioner Gordon, his name is Tommy.  He may have a slight concussion from the fight earlier, and he has a pretty nasty bump on the back of his head.  Please get him some medical care.  He has also been very helpful tonight.  He is a student at the Janus School who got caught up at the wrong place and the wrong time.  He’s learned his lesson.  Please make sure he gets taken back to the school.  I’m sure they are worried about him.”

Stunned, Gordon blinked at the younger vigilante, “Are you sure, Nightwing?”

“Absolutely.”

The Commissioner shook his head, then said, “Okay.  Officer Mitchell, take our guest down to medical with his companion, then take them back to the school.  Report them as found runaways.  Will that work for you, Nightwing?”

“Yes, Commissioner, thank you.”  Nightwing looked over at the other interrogation room and saw the door open and the room dark.  As Tommy was taken to the station infirmary, Nightwing asked, “Where’s Batman?”

Commissioner Gordon looked acutely uncomfortable, “Batman left a few minutes before you got done.  He said for you to meet him back at base when you’re done.  He…he didn’t look good, Nightwing.”

Nightwing was concerned, “What do you mean, didn’t look good?”

“Well, it’s hard to tell when you can only see a mouth, but he looked pale.  I can’t tell you the last time I saw a frown that big, either.  I thought the edges of his mouth would meet under his chin, the frown was so pronounced.”

“What did he say after the interview?”

Gordon shook his head, “Next to nothing, Nightwing.  Just that the boy was a student at the Janus School and should be returned there after we got him, and I quote, the best medical care we could afford.”

Nightwing squinted under his mask.  “Huh.  Did he sound okay?”

“That’s another thing, he didn’t.  I know it is probably impossible for the Batman, but if he was a normal person, I would say that the tone of his voice was one of a man who was almost in tears.  Never heard anything like it before from Batman.  I’ve seen and heard some scary things in my life, but that was the creepiest thing in a long time.”

Nightwing nodded, wanting to end the conversation as soon as possible to get back to the cave and find out what disturbed Bruce so much that he would almost break through Batman while in costume.  “Let me look into that, Commissioner.  Just take care of these kids for me, okay?”

“Sure, Nightwing.”

Nightwing left the building the same way he entered it, and wasn’t in the least bit surprised to find the Batmobile was gone.  Turning in the general direction of the cave, Nightwing launched his grapple and swung into the night.

Two hours later, Nightwing walked into the cave through the vehicle entrance.  He was exhausted by the return trek, but purpose had fueled his flight.  He had to know what had set Batman off in such a way this night.

Approaching the cave proper, Dick ripped his mask off and addressed Bruce.  Bruce had removed his cowl, and was sitting at the computer with his head in his hands.  “Hey, Bruce, you could have at least sent the car back, so I didn’t have to walk from the city.”

Bruce’s head popped up at the sound of Dick’s voice.  Dick almost forgot how to walk when he saw the look on his father’s face.  He ran the last fifteen feet, sliding to a stop in front of the man and kneeling down before him.  “Bruce, what is it?  You’re scaring me; what’s wrong?”

Bruce opened his mouth several times, but no words would come out.  He shook his head, new tears falling freely from his red-rimmed eyes.

“Bruce, tell me.  I need to know what that kid said to do this to you.”

A hoarse whisper drew itself out of Bruce’s raw throat, “Damian.”

Dick’s eyes grew, “What about Damian?  Did the kid know him?  Did something happen to him at the school?”

Bruce shook his head insistently, wide eyed, and whispered, “No, _Damian_.”

Realization dawned terribly on Dick as his stomach collapsed in on itself.  The kid in the interrogation room didn’t have news about Damian, he _was_ Damian.  “No,” was all Dick could whisper as he grabbed his father in a hug and held on for everything he was worth.

When he could put together a sentence again, Dick asked, “Did he say anything?  Why did he scream like that?”

Bruce looked up, fierce anger in his eyes, “He screamed because he’s traumatized, because his father and oldest brother, the two people who he looks up to the most in the world, beat the hell out of him tonight.  Not only did we beat him, but he had to let it happen to maintain his cover.”

Dick sobbed, “Oh, God.  Bruce, I broke his wrist.  I _intentionally_ broke his wrist.  I smiled when it happened, because I knew it would end the fight a bit sooner.”

Bruce’s whisper was deathly quiet, “I punched my son in the face, over and over, as hard as I could.  I knocked my son unconscious with a blow from my fist.  I broke my son’s nose, and gave him a black eye that covers most of his face.  What is wrong with me, Dick?  Even if it wasn’t Damian under that helmet, I knew it was a child.”

Another thought occurred to Dick, “Why didn’t you pull him out tonight?”

Bruce scoffed, “And say what?  ‘Sorry, Commissioner, Batman needs to take his son home?’  He was in Police custody, I couldn’t break his cover without breaking our own.  Besides, he wouldn’t even let me touch him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I knew the Commissioner was watching, but I had to try something, anything to let him know that everything would be okay, that we could work this out.  I tried to hold his hand, but as soon as I touched his arm, he jumped backwards and ran into the corner of the room.  If he could have pressed himself through the wall, he would have.  My son sat in the corner of the interrogation room, shaking and crying, covering his ears so that he didn’t have to hear my voice, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Oh, Bruce…”

“Dick, there are many nights where I hate Batman.  Tonight is the first night in many, many years that I hate Bruce Wayne.”

Dick closed his eyes and shook his head, “Yeah, I’m not too fond of Dick Grayson right now, either.  What are we going to do about it?”

“Damian didn’t give me anything new.  He barely looked at me, and when he did, the betrayed look on his face, the face that is now bruised with my knuckle marks, just broke my heart.  We have everything we need now.  What we are going to do is take down Two-Face, and hard, and by any means necessary.  And we are going to start that tomorrow.  Right now, we are going to change, go upstairs, and get blisteringly, blind, stinking drunk, and try to explain our sins to Alfred and Tim.  You are going to join me, because passing out drunk may be the only way we get any sleep tonight.”

Standing, and helping Bruce to his feet, Dick said heavily, “Yeah, I think I have a few million nerves that need to be soothed and a few brain cells that I can live without.  Let’s stick to your plan.”

 

**A/N: Well, how about that?  This story is now half-completed, at least, if my current outline stays current.  I had to do quite a bit of tweaking on this chapter, since it was the first one written.  I had to adjust several facets to make it fit in with the current story being told.**

**This is probably my second favorite chapter, after chapter four.  The second half of the story is coming.  Look for it to start in about a week.  I know I said I would try to get this story done by Christmas, but when have any of my timelines panned out?**

**Thanks for playing along.  I would love to hear what everyone thinks of it so far, and where you think it’s going.**


	11. 11

School of Wrong

Chapter 11

 

“Wake up, son.  You’re home.”

The unfamiliar voice roused Rome from his fitful doze, and the painkillers coursing through his system left enough confusion in their wake to nearly cause a disaster.  _Home?  Oh, good.  Pennyworth will have something warm prepared; I’m hungry, and I’m tired of being cold.  I can’t wait until I can get back to my own bed.  Thank god this is all over.  Maybe I can get Grayson to carry me to my room.  He should, after what he did to me._

Rome opened his eyes and found an entirely different scene than he was expecting.  Instead of the back seat of a luxury car, he found himself crammed into the rear of a police car.  Instead of Pennyworth or Father behind the wheel, a burly patrolman was opening the rear door.  Instead of the familiar grounds of Stately Wayne Manor, he saw the snow-covered landscaping surrounding the Janus School.

_No!  The mission’s over,_ the confused boy thought.  _What am I doing back here?  Father was supposed to take me home.  Sure, maybe I overreacted at the police station, but how could he not expect that, after tonight?  Did I do something wrong?  Is he mad at me for not breaking cover?  I had to fight back, they were watching!  Does he…does he not want me anymore?_

“Come on, kid, let’s go.  It’s late.  It’s cold.  I want to get back.  Surely you want to get to bed.”  The officer gave a half-grin, one that Rome could tell was designed to get the kids moving, and nothing more.

Tommy and Rome stumbled out of the back of the car as the officer discussed the situation with John, at the front door of the school.  Supporting each other, they staggered up the front steps towards John, who was wearing a look of mixed disappointment and relief.

“Thank you, Officer…Mitchell,” The ex-military man said after looking at the policeman’s nameplate, “I’ll get them in to our nurse right away.  Thank you for getting our lost kids home.”

Officer Mitchell returned to his car after a tip of his cap, obviously wanting to get out of the cold as quickly as possible.  He was off school grounds as fast as the limited traction on the snowy surface would allow.  John grabbed both boys’ sleeves, hauled them inside the building, and closed the doors.

“What.  The hell.  Happened?  Three of the four teams we sent out tonight didn’t come back, and now the police are bringing you two back here?  Should I be expecting them to bring the others back, too?  Why are you back, when our informants tell us that the others are in jail?  Look at you two.  You’re beat to shit; you can barely walk.  Hell, you would probably fall over if you weren’t holding each other up.  Come on, let’s get you two taken care of.”

John led the boys to the nurse’s office, where they waited while he woke the nurse.  Since Rome’s broken wrist was already casted, and his broken nose was already set and taped, the nurse started by checking Tommy over.  No sooner had Rome sat down to wait his turn, than John tapped his shoulder and said, “Come with me.”

Rome pointed at the nurse, with his undamaged hand, and said, “But, what about…”

“Come with me, _now_ ,” John interrupted insistently, his tone brooking no argument.

Rome stood slowly and followed the man into the hallway.  He followed him unsteadily up the stairs and across half the building, his head swimming as the drugs and exhaustion took their toll.  Finally, they entered John’s office.  The man closed the door and sat at his desk, looking at the boy, who all but collapsed into the chair on the visitor side of the desk.

He stared at the child for a long minute before he sighed and said, “We have a problem, Rome.  You see, three of the four teams sent out tonight failed to return to their pick up locations.  Two of these groups are known to be in jail right now.  Only one group got back safely, but their job tonight was a failure.  The store clerk pulled a gun and our team ran, like they should.

“Then there’s your team.  You and Tommy ran into Batman and Nightwing.  Your driver had a good view of what went on tonight.  He said that you two put up a good fight against Batman and Nightwing.  That shouldn’t be possible, with the limited training you’ve had.  A couple karate classes and the training from here do not make a master fighter, and your driver described your fighting ability as just that, masterful.  You held your own for several minutes against far bigger and stronger opponents.  You obviously have been holding out on us, and that is something we cannot have.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen.  You are going to stop lying to me, and tell me the whole truth, or the injuries you’ve received tonight will be nothing compared to what you will be getting very soon.  It’s time to come clean.  Only the truth can save you now, and we will get it, one way or another.”

The door to the office burst open, and Rome’s fear doubled as Two Face stalked into the small room.  He only glanced at Rome before addressing John.  “You have him; good.  Bring him; let’s get to the bottom of this once and for all.”

John nodded and grabbed Rome by the back of his jumpsuit, dragging the boy out of the chair and into the hallway before Rome could get his feet under him.  They entered an elevator, one which Rome was unaware of its existence, and Two Face pushed the lowest button on the panel.

As they descended, Rome asked, “Wh-wh-what are you g-going to do with m-me?”

Not looking at the shaking boy, Two Face said softly, “John.”

John immediately turned and sank a knee deep into Rome’s stomach.  Rome collapsed to the floor of the elevator car, coughing and gasping for air.

When he had quieted some, Two Face said, “Here’s how this works.  We ask the questions and you answer them.  You don’t ask questions.  If I like your answers, then you have a chance of surviving the night.  If I don’t like your answers, well…How old are you, kid?”

“Twelve, sir,” Rome gasped out, still lying on the floor.

“Well, if I don’t like your answers, then at least you had twelve years.  You certainly won’t reach thirteen.”

The car stopped, the door opened, and Rome found himself lifted roughly to his feet before being nudged out of the elevator.  He found himself in a hallway that obviously comprised a basement level that hadn’t been shown on the blueprints he studied several months before.  He tripped along until he was shoved, none to gently, into a small room halfway down the hallway.  He landed awkwardly on the concrete floor, next to a wooden chair.

“Sit,” Two Face ordered.

Rome complied as quickly as possible, which wasn’t too quick at all, in his current condition.  Two Face and John loomed over the visibly frightened child.  Two Face started talking. 

“Here’s what we know.  We sent out four teams on jobs tonight.  Only one returned unharmed.  Two are known to be in jail, or at least holding, until they can be booked.  One team met with the Bat and his crony, and they get released back here on the same night.  You put up a hell of a fight against Batman, that much was observed from the van, and you have the broken bones to show for it.  You were also brought back to the school in a police car, with the officer listing you as runaways.  You were caught committing a crime, and you weren’t even booked.  You may call it lucky.  I call it suspicious, and the only way I can think to explain it is that you gave up something valuable to save your worthless hide.

“Then, I also have reports from your partner, telling us that you talk in your sleep.  You seem to have the most interesting dreams, according to him.  You seem to think Batman is going to come save you.  Now, why would a street kid think that?  I’ll tell you why, because you’re a rat.  I have no room for rats in my organization.  Rats are vermin, and deserve to be crushed like vermin.  Now, talk.”

Rome looked up with wide eyes and a shaking jaw, and said, “I-I-I d-didn’t tell B-Batman anything.”

It was true.  The only sound he had made in the interrogation room was the scream, when Batman had removed his helmet.  He had been scared then, he was utterly terrified now.  _Why couldn’t I have found a way for Batman to take me home tonight?  He probably doesn’t even know I’m back at the school yet.  What am I supposed to do when he doesn’t believe me?  If I ever see Tommy again, I’m going to break his neck.  Talk about rats!_

“John.”  The ex-soldier sent a solid punch to Rome’s chest.  The boy winced and drew a pained breath.  The blow landed exactly where one of Batman’s strikes landed earlier, and the area was tender.  A second blow to the sternum left Rome coughing and out of breath.

“Let’s try again.  How did you end up back here, instead of in a holding cell?”

Rome began to wonder just how far Two Face would instruct John to go as he again answered truthfully.  “I didn’t do that.  Tommy said he talked to Nightwing, and asked to be returned to the school.”

Two Face launched a vicious backhand that broke the boy’s nose for the second time that night.  Blood poured down his face, soaking into the collar of his gray jumpsuit.  The criminal growled dangerously, inches from Rome’s face.  “You think I’m going to believe that you got out of an assured stay at Juvenile Hall because your partner asked nicely?”

“I told you, I didn’t say anything.  I didn’t squeal.”  Rome was desperate to be believed.  He hadn’t had to lie to answer any of the questions put to him.  It wasn’t his fault that the truth was stranger than fiction in this case.”

Two Face leaned even closer to the boy’s abused face.  “You had better start telling me the truth if you want to breathe free air again.  Who interrogated whom?”

Rome was gasping for air, his whole body quaking in fear as he said, “Nightwing talked to Tommy.  Batman talked to me.”

“So, you _did_ speak to Batman.  I knew it, you rat.”  Two Face stepped back and nodded.  Less than a second later, a series of jabs pounded the boy’s face, splitting both lips and cutting his cheek open.  Rome moaned in pain, wincing at each fresh punch he took.

“Come on, kid.  Just talk already.  At least cry out when I hit you.  I know you want to.  No one can hear you down here but us.  Maybe it will get your mouth working enough to give him what he wants to hear.”  John pleaded with Rome, for the boy’s own sake.  He didn’t want to hit him any more than Rome wanted to be hit, but when Two Face says to do something, you do it.

“I’m not lying,” Rome mumbled blearily through bleeding lips.

Becoming more frustrated, Two Face all but yelled, “John, loosen him up some more…Wait, just a second.  I have an idea that might work a little better.”  Two Face grabbed the casted left arm, lifted it gently from the arm of the chair, and began harshly yanking and shaking the arm as hard as he could.  Rome finally gave in and released an anguished cry as the newly set bone rattled in his arm.  Each time the bone rubbed against itself, new waves of pain were sent coursing through his body, and fresh cries were sent bouncing around the room.

Two Face finally let the arm drop, and the limb was pulled tightly into his chest as Rome curled in on himself and sobbed in pain.  Miracle of miracles, Rome was given a minute to cry himself out before Two Face started questioning him again.

“Okay, kid.  You’re going to tell me exactly what happened in that interrogation room.  Don’t lie to me again, or I can guarantee that the pain you’ve felt tonight will be like a warm, tropical breeze compared to what will come next.”

Rome gasped, talking between the sobs.  “I haven’t lied to you.  I didn’t say anything to Batman.  He talked, and I listened.  He said he already knew the jobs were coming from the school.  He needed someone on the inside to pass him information.  Batman said he knew my parents were in jail.  I haven’t seen them in over a year.  He said…he said if…if I agreed to p-pass him information, he would work it out with the police so I could see them again.  I miss them so much.  I’m so lonely.  I-I just want to see them again.”

Two Face reached forward, grabbed the front of Rome’s jumpsuit, and hauled the bleeding youth to his feet.  Leaving him standing unsteadily, he handed the chair to John before placing his hands on Rome’s shoulders.  The child flinched sharply as he swayed on his feet as Two Face said, “Now, we’re getting somewhere.  Unfortunately, for you, the only thing worse than a rat is a spy.  Sorry kid.  You showed promise, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to terminate your services with this organization.  I’d just as soon shoot you, but you aren’t even worth a bullet to me.”

Two Face pushed the boy back and walked to the door.  Rome took a step to follow, and at a nod from the crime lord, John smashed the wooden chair across Rome’s face and chest, sending the boy flying back across the room and causing several new cuts to start trickling blood, staining the gray material a dark crimson.

Dazed, and seeing double, he turned his head to the two men at the door.  Two Face said, “Consider yourself lucky, kid.  Spies deserve to die immediately.  You are being granted the time to think on your sins before you slowly starve to death.”

The master criminal left, and John took a last look at the heap of boy lying in the dark room.  “Sorry kid,” he said softly, “I really liked you.  You could have gone far with us, but we can’t have traitors in the fold.  Just head towards the light as quickly as you can.  Maybe you won’t suffer too much.”

The door slammed shut with an echoing finality, as Rome was left in the absolute darkness of the room.  The dark matched his feelings.  _So, this is where I’m going to die.  Where did I go so wrong?  How did everything go so wrong so fast?_

The various insecurities and doubts flew through his head in seconds, only to be flushed from his mind by one all-pervading thought, _I don’t want to die._

Being able to get nothing else across his mind, Damian sat against the back wall of the room and cried himself to sleep.

 

**A/N: Is this all for our Boy Wonder?  I guess you’ll just have to stay tuned to find out.  I hope I’m capturing the evilness of Two Face in this story.  I always feel like I have a hard time getting the villains right when I write them.**


	12. 12

School of Wrong

Chapter 12

 

Bruce stuck his head hesitantly into a rarely used space in the manor, the civilian gymnasium.  As his eyes scanned the room full of equipment, he smiled faintly.  _All this equipment, all this cost, just so Bruce can have an excuse to have the body of Batman.  How many machines have been purchased to keep this room up to date over the years, only to sit, unused and forgotten?  I should make sure Alfred donates the old machines to a good charity, or at least sells them and uses the money to pay for the new machines._

As his gaze reached a corner of the room, arms could be seen rising and falling, pushing dumbbells towards the ceiling.  Shallow grunts could be heard as the arms extended skyward.  Bruce smiled as he approached the low bench where Tim was laying, pressing iron above his chest with a determined look on his face.

After three more reps, Tim dropped the weights to the padded floor and turned his head to look at Bruce, who sat on the next bench, watching.  “Alfred told me you’ve been in here all day.  We have much better equipment in the cave, you know.”

Tim sat up, wiping sweat from his face with a towel.  “I know, but I wasn’t sure how much you wanted me in the cave, since you won’t let me go out of patrol.”

Bruce’s expression grew stern.  “Stop that talk right now, young man.  I went through that with Damian last year.  I’m not going through it with you now.  You know better.”

Tim sighed, “Yeah, I do know better.  I’m just frustrated, Bruce.  I needed to get some exercise.”

Bruce said quietly, “I just want to make sure you’re healthy before going back on patrol.  I see you’re ready, now, though.  You could have used the cave, Tim.”

Tim looked at Bruce innocently.  “It’s cold down there.  I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s snowing.  Up here, I get some pretty good equipment _and_ central heating.  So, some of the machines are a few years old.  I doubt most of them had ever been used before I started coming in here.  It’s like having my own gym, right here at home.”

Bruce followed Tim’s eyes around the room again, taking in the machines, most of which were probably purchased around the same time Tim came into his life.  “You’re probably right about that.  I can get you newer equipment for in here, if you’re going to make use of the room, which you’re welcome to.”

“No,” Tim shook his head slowly, “I like this setup.  Besides, if no one else is going to use it, why waste the money.  This stuff is perfectly good.  The gym at my apartment building isn’t this nice, and it was renovated just last year.”

“I want you to have the best, son.”

Tim stood up, moved to sit next to Bruce, and laid his head on the man’s shoulder.  Tim whispered, “I already have the best.  The rest is just window dressing.”

Bruce was silent for a long minute, just soaking in the presence of his son, before he asked, “Why are you frustrated, Tim?”

Tim heaved a small sigh, “Because the room across the hall from mine is still empty.”

“The room across the hall from yours is almost always empty, Tim.”

Tim huffed, “Fine, the room _between_ Dick’s and the one across from mine is still empty.  You knew what I meant, Bruce.”

Bruce sighed, “Yeah, I knew what you meant.”

Tim turned to look at Bruce.  “You’re the one who wanted us to get closer.  Well, we did.  Now, I miss him, and I want him back.  You know that if I miss him, Dick is losing his mind.  He’s started sleeping with Titus, you know.  If you hadn’t bought that dog, Dick might have had to start wearing Damian’s socks, or something.”

“It’s only been five days, Tim.  He’ll contact us, I know it.”

Tim placed a hand on Bruce’s forearm and met the man’s eyes.  “No, Bruce,” he whispered, “It’s been five days, he won’t.”

Bruce closed his eyes.  His voice shook as he whispered, “I know.  God, Tim, what did I do?”

“The only thing you could do at the time.  But, since then, we should have been planning on how and when to get him out, not waiting for contact.”

“How about the game,” Bruce was grasping at straws, and he knew it.  Tim had spent days logged into Battle Gate, just waiting for any sort of assurance that Damian’s cover was still intact.

“I hacked his account.  He hasn’t logged on since the first contact.”

“What about…”

Tim stood, interrupting Bruce.  “No, Bruce.  There is nothing else.  This needs to end tonight.  Either we all go get him, or I’ll go by myself.  Either way, this ends tonight.  Why are you hesitating?  Don’t you want your son back?”

Tim cringed, thinking he had gone too far, but Bruce was deep in thought.  _Why am I hesitating?  Obviously I want him back, but I think I want to make sure he is going to come back unharmed.  If he’s hurt, then it’s my fault._ “Of course I want him back.  It’s just…I’m not sure I can handle it.  I hurt him.  I hurt him bad.  If he’s hurt worse, because I left him there, I don’t know if I can live with that.  I don’t think I can live with him blaming me for this.  He should, though.  He should hate me, after what I did to him.  He should be scared of the monster that lives across the hall from him, but…I mean, I deserve it, but it scares me, Tim.”

Tim hugged his adoptive father and said, “You can give him all the space in the world, but we need to get him back first.  In fact, I can almost guarantee that he will demand his space, if what you and Dick told me about the fight is true.”

As if summoned, Dick came bursting into the room.  Looking frantic, he ripped the remote from the wall and turned on the television hanging from the ceiling over the stationary bike.  Waving both men around the small set, he pointed to the news report on the screen.  Tim was idly wondering why Bruce had bothered to hook up cable service in a room that only served the purpose of a cover for Batman as Dick turned the volume up.

A young woman was sitting at the news desk, making her report.  “…Returning to our top story of the evening.  Breaking news out of the Financial District.  Police have shot and killed a robber outside of a North Gotham pawn shop.  The thief, and an accomplice, who is in custody, stole numerous firearms from the business, and also tripped a silent alarm.  A local patrol responded to the alarm and confronted the suspects.  Officers are reporting that the suspects opened fire on police, and police returned fire, killing one of the suspects.  The suspects have been confirmed as members of the ‘Rob-and-Run’ bandits, who have been pursuing a crime spree all across the city for the past several months.  The suspect’s identities are being withheld until next of kin can be located, and due to the unconfirmed rumor that the perpetrators are minors.  Back to you.”

Bruce turned off the screen and looked out of the darkened windows that looked over the back lawn.  _Sun is down, it’s time to get my boy back, and make sure Gotham PD didn’t just execute him._   “Suit up,” Bruce said tersely.  Two grim nods met his gaze.

The three determined men met Alfred in the hallway as they exited the gym.  “Gentlemen, your dinner is ready.”

“Save it for later, Alfred,” Bruce ordered, not breaking stride, “There’s an empty spot at our table that needs to be filled tonight.”

Alfred looked hopeful for the first time in days, “Can I assume that means…”

Bruce interrupted the older man as he opened the clock passageway to the cave, “We’re not coming back without him.  We let this… _I_ let this go for far too long as it is.  Two Face is going to jail, and Damian is coming home.  You might want to call Leslie in advance.  He may need extra help.”

“Consider it done, sir.  Good luck.”  Alfred hustled back to the dining room to refrigerate dinner while the three younger men headed downstairs.

“How do we do this, Bruce,” a half-Dick, half-Nightwing asked.

“We don’t have time for subtlety, or an elaborate plan.  At this point, I’m ready to crash the Batmobile through the front door and punch everyone who objects,” Bruce said, as he settled his cape across his shoulders.

He looked up as Tim pulled his cowl over his head, the first one ready.  “Tim?” Bruce asked questioningly.

“Don’t worry, I shaved the moustache yesterday.  You’re not keeping me out of this, Bruce.  I’m the only one who has been inside the building, I can give you an idea where to look.”

Bruce gave Tim a kind look, almost incongruous with a man who was a cowl away from being Batman.  “I wasn’t going to try to keep you out of this, Tim.  I was just going to ask if you truly felt ready for this.”

Bruce could tell that Tim’s eyes narrowed under his cowl as he said, “It doesn’t matter if I’m ready or not, I’m going.  I want my brother back.  I’d fight for that even if I was missing a leg.”

Bruce sighed with a smile as he said, “Thank you, Tim, but I meant emotionally.  Are you ready for that?  You are going to see people you knew, people who knew you.  Maybe even people you considered friends.  They may fight you.  You may have to fight them.”

“They knew King; not Tim, and certainly not Red Robin,” Tim said defiantly, “They’d be stupid to get between me and either of my targets tonight.”

“Either of them,” Nightwing asked.

Red Robin turned to his brother and said, “Damian and Two Face.  We’re going for both of them tonight.”

Nightwing placed a hand on Red Robin’s shoulder and said, “…And God help anyone who gets in our way.”

Batman rose and regarded his sons.  _There should be three here tonight.  Ideally, there should be four, but I think that ship has sailed.  Maybe I should have Dick call Jason?  We can use all the help we can get with a takedown like this.  Would Jason come out for Damian, though?  He would come if it were Dick in trouble, I know that.  If Jason does one thing in his area, it’s protect the kids.  This really wouldn’t be any different from that.  Does he care enough about Damian to put aside his hate for me?_   Bruce shook his head slightly, _I’m wasting time.  I can think about my failures as a parent later, when I have another set of failures to add to the list._   “Get in the car, boys.  I’m getting you a little brother for Christmas, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Following the man in black, Nightwing said, “Good, because that is the only thing on either of our lists this year.”

The Batmobile tore out of the cave as Alfred looked on from the foot of the stairs.  “Bring him home, sirs,” the butler whispered to himself.

Nightwing turned in his seat and looked back at Red Robin.  “Where are we going, Red?”

“The old Gotham Sanitarium, past the north side of town.”

“Tt.  That’s going to take us over an hour to get there,” Nightwing whined.

“I didn’t exactly have any input in where Two Face set up his latest hideout,” Red Robin deadpanned.

Batman winced at the familiar, but greatly missed sound.  “It just gives us time to plan an approach.  Pull up the schematics of the building.”

Nightwing began to type the request into the computer link when Red Robin said, “It won’t do you any good.”

“Explain,” Batman said harshly.

“What do you think I’ve been doing at night while you two are out patrolling?  I’ve been studying that building since I was ransomed from there.  I’ve been planning for this night.”  _Someone had to,_ Red Robin thought to himself.  “When we were first taken to the school, Carl told us that the building had been completely gutted and remodeled from what it used to be.  It was.  Nothing on the existing blueprints matches the current layout of the building.  That’s why I’m here, to act as your guide.”

Batman was annoyed at this revelation.  “Thank you, Red Robin.  I started studying those blueprints last night.  I would have been completely lost.  Tell us about the inside.”

Red Robin nodded.  “Keep in mind that I saw less than half of the spaces inside while I was there.  As far as I can tell, there are four floors inside, or three floors and an attic storage space.  I only ever saw the first and second floors.  They are laid out exactly the same, with classroom-type rooms on one side of the floor, and dorms on the other.  There are also several common areas, a mess hall and kitchen, library, computer lab, bathrooms, and a nurse’s office.  If you go into any room on the first floor, almost the same exact room will be right above your head on the second floor.

“I never went to the third floor.  No one ever did, as far as I remember.  Our best guess is that it is staff quarters.  The attic was rumored to be in bad shape.  We were forbidden from going up there.  They told us that the floor was rotting, and it wasn’t safe to walk around up there.  To be honest, they kept us so busy that we didn’t have the time or energy to explore, or even wonder about the spaces we didn’t use.”

Nightwing looked critically at Red Robin.  “Something’s not right here, Tim.”

“Names,” Batman growled.

“Yeah, hold on, Batman.  You’re not talking like you hate this place, Red.  I would think you’d be ready to burn it to the ground.”

Red Robin considered the thought for a moment.  “I guess, in some ways, I don’t hate it.  Sure, it’s a henchman training ground run by one of Gotham’s most ruthless criminals, but it also is a place that is doing good work for some of the most vulnerable residents of Gotham.  No one was forced into stealing, or what they called the ‘Advanced Program’.  If my guess is right, most of the students there don’t even know it’s happening.  There had to be close to one hundred fifty to two hundred kids there.  Out of all that, only twenty or so were committing the robberies.  The rest were just kids who were happy to be off the streets and out of the cold.  As evil as we know he is, I can’t fault Two Face for doing that.”

The car was silent for several minutes before Batman said, “I never thought of it that way before.”

“Oh,” Red Robin said, “Our entrance should be from the back of the building.”

“Why,” Batman asked.

“There’s a garage in the back.  It must have been the old ambulance bay, when it was the Sanitarium.  Now, it’s where they keep the vans.  If nothing else, we want to make sure they can’t run from that way.”

“Good thinking, Red,” Nightwing said.

Batman dialed a number into the Batmobile’s car phone.  It rang twice before the line was answered.  “Commissioner Gordon here.  It’s a little early for one of your calls, Batman.”

“Commissioner,” Batman said, “Send everything you have to the old Gotham Sanitarium.  It’s the headquarters of the ‘Rob-and-Run Bandits’.”

“That’s pretty far out in the hills, Batman.  It’s going to take some time for my men to get there.  Are you sure about this location?”

“Positive, Commissioner.  Send the SWAT team, and some counselors, just in case.  There are going to be a lot of children that will need to be placed tonight.”

Commissioner Gordon sounded confused, “Why the SWAT team, if it’s just children, Batman?”

“The bandits are under the wing of Two Face.  The kids may not be a problem, but you can bet he will be.  I’m on my way there now.  If all goes well, we should have everything just about wrapped up by the time your men get there.”

Batman could hear the man shudder on the other side of the connection.  “I wish you were able to make a joke like that, Batman.  We haven’t heard his name in quite a while.  The SWAT team will be ready.  You aren’t there yet, how do you know it’s Two Face?”

Batman looked at Red Robin in the rearview mirror, “Inside informants, Commissioner.  I fear my informant may have been discovered, that’s why we’re heading in now.”

“Good luck, Batman.  I am dispatching units there now, but with this snow, I would be surprised if the first units were on the scene any earlier than forty-five minutes from now.”

“That’s fine, Commissioner.”  Batman disconnected the line.  Looking at his son in the rearview mirror again, Batman said, “Tell us about the people.  Who can we expect to run up against?”

Red Robin collected his thoughts for a minute before responding.  “The place is divided by floor.  The first floor is run by Carl, the recruiter who brought us in.  He may not be there.  He has an apartment in the city.  I’m tempted to give him a pass in this whole matter.  He truly seemed like he only wanted to get people off the streets.  The nurse is on the first floor, as well.  She is an actual nurse, not just some henchman trained in first aid.  I would give her a pass, too.  Most of the students are housed on the first floor.  Angus described them as mostly prison fillers.”

“Who’s Angus?” Batman asked.

Red Robin shook his head, “I’ll get to him in a minute.  The kids are mostly punks who think they’re hard.  Damian and I had a few run-ins with them.  They won’t fight us.  They’re only in it for themselves.

“The second floor is what they call the Vocational Education floor.  That is where the students with ‘promise’ are sent.  Angus runs the second floor.  He knows about the Advanced Program.  Oh, that’s what they call the group who carried out the robberies.  He served as the recruiter for that program, but he also ran the second floor as a tight ship.  Very disciplined, very organized.  Anyone who can teach street kids to stand at attention, and harness their abilities to be able to learn a trade can’t be all bad.  On the other hand, he can’t be given a pass on his involvement.

“The Advanced Program is run by John.  He’s definitely a henchman.  He is Two Face’s right hand man when it comes to running the school.  He’s in charge of the day-to-day operation, while Two Face handles the big picture.  You actually met him, Batman.  He drove the van when you delivered the ransom.  He is former military, and he runs the program with a military efficiency, at least, as much as you can do with street kids.  He will be on the front lines of any battle tonight.  I’m sorry to say, but John, Damian, and I were starting a self-defense program at the school before I was uncovered.  You can bet that it continued.  There are maybe fifty students housed on the second floor, with twenty or so in the robbery group.  They all wear the same gray jumpsuits, but only the thieves have the helmets.  Those are kept hidden in their rooms, and only come out for jobs.  They will all fight for the school.  They may not fight well, but they will all fight.”

Batman digested the information before saying, “Is there anyone else there?”

Red Robin nodded, “There are eight van drivers.  We never saw them.  They could have been the teachers for all I know.  There were about a dozen or so teachers that I remember seeing.  There could be more, I just don’t know.”

“Good,” Nightwing said, “I feel like punching someone.  It sounds like there’s plenty there to hit.”

“Is there any sort of basement there?” Batman asked.

“Maybe?  I don’t know.  I never heard about one, and the original building blueprints didn’t show one.  Without seeing new blueprints, I wouldn’t rule anything out.  Just because I don’t know about one doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”

The Batmobile grew silent as they exited the city and sped their way into the foothills.  Red Robin really didn’t want to bring up his next point, but he knew it could be crucial to their success tonight.  “Um…Batman?”

“What is it?”  Batman almost sounded concerned at the hesitant tone in Red Robin’s voice.

“Don’t get mad, but…Two Face might not be there.”

The car swerved as Batman started to turn in his seat, before remembering he was driving on snow-covered roads at night, at high speed.  The back tires slipped on a patch of ice before Batman got the car back under control.

“Why?  Why won’t he be there?” Batman growled low.

“Well, most of the students there never met him.  As far as I could tell, none of them knew they were working for Two Face.  He didn’t spend a lot of time at the building.  At least, that was the story that was passed around the school.  He really only came up for the special things, like, you know…interrogating me.”

Nightwing felt compassion for his little brother for having to face the criminal as a civilian.  “I believe he’ll be there tonight.  One of his little minions in training was just shot and killed.  There has to be some sort of damage control after something like that.”

Batman nodded.  “He’ll be there, but…thanks for the warning.”

The monolithic, brick and stone structure hove into view, and Red Robin let out an involuntary gasp.

“Red?” Nightwing asked.

“Sorry, just a bit more nervous than I thought I would be at seeing this place again.”

“Keep a cool head, son.  We’re here with you.”  Batman said in a gentle tone as he drove through the open front gate and quickly rounded the building.  Sliding the Batmobile to a stop sideways in the open garage doorway, to prevent the vans from leaving, Batman opened the canopy and exited into the frosty night air.

As they piled out of the car, Batman asked, “Any last words of advice?”

“Yeah,” Red Robin said at the last minute thought, grim determination in his voice, “John is mine.  You two can have everyone else, but John is mine.”  Batman and Nightwing made no response, but their eyes met, and they nodded to each other, tacitly agreeing to let Red Robin take the lead.

The three Gotham vigilantes made their way to the back of the garage.  Batman was a bit stymied.  There were five doors leading into the building, and only three of them.  Batman chose a door at random, Nightwing following suit, until Red Robin hissed at his partners, “No, it’s this one.”

“Why that one?” Batman asked.

“This leads directly to the second floor.  We want to bypass the first floor for now.”

“Why,” Batman asked.

Red Robin looked at Batman as he opened the door, revealing a staircase.  “What we want is on the second floor.  If we get bogged down by the crowd on the first floor, we give the people we are actually looking for a chance to escape.  There are more people who deserve to be hit on the second floor.”

Nightwing smiled grimly, cracking his knuckles.  “Why didn’t you just say that to begin with?”

They walked through the door indicated by their youngest member and climbed the stairs quietly.  As they climbed, Red Robin said, “Besides, Batman.  I think the door you were going to was alarmed.”

Batman stopped and stared.  “Why didn’t you mention anything about alarms before?”

Red Robin shrugged, “I didn’t think you would mind making a little noise tonight.  I do now, though.  I want this done fast.  That means we should be quiet about it, at least, for now.  Besides, I’m not one hundred percent sure about the alarm.  I only ever saw two of those doors used when I was here, so it stands to reason that the others might be alarmed.”

“Just lead the way, Red Robin,” Batman muttered.

The invaders entered the second floor and found nothing out of the ordinary.  It was mostly quiet.  A few soft snores could be heard from several rooms, and conversation could be heard from down the hall.  Red Robin led quickly and quietly into a nearby door.  The classroom beyond was dark and deserted.  Without doing anything more than closing the door, Red Robin launched into a quick, quiet explanation.

“Okay.  It’s late, but not too late to expect everybody to be in bed.  There is no actual lights out time, so people are up at all hours.  The voices you heard down the hall are most likely coming from the mess hall.  There are two ways out of there, the door into this hall, and the door into the back hall.  There is also the kitchen attached to the mess hall, but the only door out of there exits into this hallway.  Across the hall from the mess hall is the computer lab, with the library two doors farther down the hall.  John’s office is off the back hall.  Everything on this side of the mess hall is classrooms, like this one.  They should all be empty at this time of night.  On the other side of the mess hall are dorm rooms.  Two students per room.  So, here’s what I suggest.  We make a quick stop by Damian’s room.  If he’s there, we extract him back to the car, quick and quiet, then come back for Two Face.  If he’s not here, then we move on to taking down the adults.  Remember, Damian goes by ‘Rome’ here.  It’s probably best if we don’t mention any names, but if you hear that name, that’s him.  Focus on the adults, unless the students attack you outright.  I don’t see a need to hurt them unnecessarily.”

Batman looked at his sons and thought for a quick minute.  Then he gave a short nod and said, “It’s a start.  Lead the way.  First Damian’s room, then the most likely location of Two Face.”

The planning session seemed at an end, and the vigilantes were just about ready to go to work when the door opened, and a student reading a book walked in and turned on the lights.  Looking up from his novel and seeing the three stunned Bats caused the boy to freeze.  He then paled visibly, dropped the book, and fled the room screaming.  Each vigilante chose a different four letter word before exiting the room into the hall.

“What was plan B?” Nightwing asked, as the cries of terror caused many heads to be poked into the hallway and look in their direction.

Red Robin glanced down the hall at two men exiting the kitchen.  “There!  At the end of the hall.  Angus and John.”

Batman took a step forward and said in a loud, authoritative voice, “Where is he?  Your boss, where is he?”

The students looked down the hall as John took his own step forward.  “You have no right to be here, Batman.  This is a legal, charitable organization.”

“You really think I wouldn’t recognize these jumpsuits you have the kids wearing as the same ones from the string of petty thefts in the city?” Batman growled harshly, taking another step forward, followed closely by Nightwing and Red Robin.  “You think I didn’t have informants on the inside of your little organization?”

John looked incredulous.  “Impossible.  We found your leak and shut it up.”

Batman roiled with hot anger as he took another few steps forward, his fists clenching.  “You honestly believe I only had one?” He growled dangerously.

“Boys,” Angus called out, “This is what we’ve been training you for.  This is what we’ve been planning for.  Protect your home!”

“Coward,” Red Robin spat at the man, “Using children to do your dirty work.  What kind of man are you?”

Angus scoffed, “I’d say a smart one, lad.  Boys, get ‘em.”

“Don’t hurt the kids, they don’t know any better,” Red Robin said quietly.

Three eager boys charged the caped men, and were quickly put down.  Soon the hall filled with gray-clad youths, shouting and charging at the vigilantes.  Showing their best restraint, Batman and Nightwing scythed through the untrained children, wincing when they delivered a particularly hard hit.  They remembered what they did to Damian a week before, and were determined not to make that mistake again.  As easily as the Dynamic Duo was able to hold their own, fifty-to-two odds were not in their favor.  They soon separated, trying to draw off some of their attackers and make their odds more manageable.

Batman found most of the children targeting him, most likely out of prestige.  _Imagine the tales they will be able to spin in jail if they can say they were able to hit the Batman before being taken down._   Batman was slowly backing towards the classrooms, but stayed in the hall, thereby limiting the number of attackers who could get to him at once in the narrow hallway.  A string of unconscious or moaning bodies were left as he slowly backed down the hall.

Nightwing took a different approach, and ran ahead.  He hoped to get to the dorm rooms, and maybe find his baby brother in the process.  A group of four students, all young teenagers from the looks of them, launched a simultaneous attack, jumping at the man.  They were able, through their combined weight, to crash through the door of a dorm room.  Inside, Nightwing was able to incapacitate all four attackers, once he had a bit more room to maneuver.  Waiting for another attack, Nightwing spun as he heard a whimper come from under the bed next to him.

“Come out of there,” Nightwing ordered.

A blond youth inched his way out from under the bed slowly, his hands held above his head.  “Please don’t hurt me, Mr. Nightwing.  I’m not fighting.  I don’t want anything to do with that again.”

Recognition dawned on Nightwing’s face, and a small smile crossed his lips.  “Tommy.  I see you’re starting to make good decisions.  What happened to your roommate?  Is he out there, fighting somewhere?”

Tommy sat on the bed and wiped at his nose.  “I haven’t seen him since the night the police brought us back here.  It was the same night that we…that I talked to you.  John took us to the nurse, but while I was getting checked out, he took Rome away.  I haven’t seen him since.  John…John told me it was best not to ask what happened to him.”

Nightwing’s eyes narrowed behind his mask.  It wasn’t good news.  _Five days.  No one’s seen him in five days, and this John guy is telling his roommate not to ask about him.  Red better finish him off quick, because if he’s still standing when I find him, he’ll never be able to stand again._   “Okay, Tommy.  Your first idea was the best one you had all night.  Go back to hiding under your bed.  You’ll be safe there.  Don’t fight any of us, and don’t argue when the police get here, and you’ll be fine.”

The teen paled and looked nervous as he inched back under his bed.  “M-Mr. Nightwing?  Why all this interest in Rome?”

“He was working with us.  Batman just wants to make sure he’s okay.  Don’t worry, he didn’t start working with us until Batman talked to him at the police station.  He isn’t a traitor, he just wanted to do what was right.”  _My brother better still be alive, or else this building will no longer be standing at the end of the night._

While Batman and Nightwing fought, Red Robin bypassed most of the fight and headed for John and Angus.  The two adults used the confusion of the melee to slip back into the mess hall, no doubt heading for John’s office to inform Two Face of what was happening.  Red Robin ran through the eatery and into the back hall, where he spotted the two men entering John’s office.  He ran in that direction, and was about to turn into the open door when bullets started chewing into the wall opposite the door.  John and Angus had started firing the second they saw Red Robin’s shadow on the far wall.  Instead of running into a wall of gunfire, Red Robin dropped into a slide and bypassed the portal.

Pulling a flash bang from his utility belt, Red Robin rolled the device into the room and covered his ears.  A blinding flash and eardrum shattering noise sent both men in the office dropping to their knees as the stunning effect overwhelmed their senses.  After their matching shouts of pain, Red Robin went charging into the office and launched himself over the desk.  A split kick disarmed both men in one shot.  He shoved John aside and sent a nerve strike to the base of Angus’ neck, sending the man crashing to the floor, unable to move.

John was starting to regain his senses when Red Robin turned to him.  The military man got unsteadily to his feet, wavering on the spot as he looked to face off with the caped vigilante.

“Come on, you masked freak.  Come get it.  I can take you.”  John slurred his words, but Red Robin could see that the man was recovering from the aftereffects of the flash bang faster than he was letting on.

“I thought I would wait until you were ready; make this a fair fight.  Let’s see if you fight better than your students do.” _What am I doing?  This man is a trained martial artist, why am I giving him a fair chance?_

“That’s very sporting of you.”  As the last word left John’s mouth, he sprang forward and launched a complicated series of punches at his opponent.  Red Robin was able to block or deflect them, for the most part, but he was pushed back by the ferocity of the attack.  The sequence of blows ended with a strong front kick, which sent Red Robin to his back, and sliding out of the office and into the hallway.  Looking to his right from his back, Red Robin saw Batman coming down the hall, towards him.  He held up a hand to stop Batman, shaking his head and mouthing, ‘he’s mine’.

From inside the office, John called out, “Was it everything you hoped, boy?”

Red Robin turned back to the office and smiled.  He performed a perfect kick up, transferring from flat on his back to standing in a fighting stance in the span of a second and a half.  His grin growing, he walked warily into the office and said, “I just wanted you to feel like you had a fighting chance.  Now, it’s my turn.”

John pressed his attack again, but this time, Red Robin blocked everything sent his way, and quickly took over the fight.  He struck at will, landing blows designed to cause pain, but not incapacitate.  Short jabs to the face split lips and caused blood to leak from both nostrils.  John’s left eye quickly swelled to the point where the man could no longer see past the puffy swelling, but the young vigilante left the man’s right eye alone, just to show his total command of the fight.  Unexpected kicks bruised the man’s shins, but kept him on his feet; injuries designed to irritate, nothing more.

John knew he was losing, and grew desperate.  He pulled a knife from a hidden sheath at his back, and a lucky, unexpected slash caught Red Robin’s cheek as the teen leaned in, trying to get closer to the man to attempt to finish the fight.  Red wheeled back, not expecting the turn in the situation.  John tried to press his advantage, but his previous injuries hampered him mobility, and the best he could do was make an awkward lunge.  Red Robin easily got out of the way of the strike, and kicked the desk chair into the man’s legs.  John was sent tumbling ungainly to the floor, where he landed with a rough thump followed by a shriek of pain.

Red Robin stood back, wondering what could have happened for the man to yell like that.  He landed awkwardly, but Red Robin heard no bones snap.  John pushed himself back into a standing position, and it was only curiosity that kept the teen from pressing his advantage.  The military man began stumbling towards the vigilante, and almost fell again after just two steps.  Red Robin glanced down and saw the source of the scream.  The knife was embedded just above the man’s right knee.

“That looks painful,” Red Robin winced as he spoke.  “Why don’t you just give up now, and we can get that treated when the cops get here.”

“You haven’t won yet,” John growled.  “Even like this, I can still take you.  We never quit.”

Red Robin rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, whatever.”  He spun and sent a hard kick to the man’s face.  John was sent crashing to his back, his head connecting hard with the floor.  John tried to get up, but only managed to lift his head before collapsing back to the floor, unconscious.

Red Robin stood over the downed man, panting.  He turned his head towards the door to find Batman standing in the hall, leaning against the doorjamb casually.  “Feel better, Red Robin?”

He thought about it for a few seconds before saying, “Yeah, I guess I do.  Too bad I didn’t find out where Two Face is before I knocked him out…BATMAN!”

Red Robin shouted and pointed as an arm bearing a shiny chrome pistol came into view through the doorway.  The barrel of the weapon came to rest against Batman’s temple as a silky voice grated out, “I’m right here.  Don’t even think about moving, Batman, unless you want to find out the hard way if that cowl of yours is really bulletproof.”

Batman didn’t move, but his tone of voice matched Two Face’s.  “Are you sure you really want to do this, Harvey?  You’re outnumbered, three to one, or, three to two, in your case.”

“My finger moves just half an inch, and it will even up the odds nicely, don’t you think?”

“You could do that,” Batman said, turning to face the criminal, the gun now pointing directly between Batman’s eyes, “Or, you could drop it, and save us all a load of aggravation.”

“Let me think about it.” Two Face made a show of stroking his chin with his free hand for a second before saying, “Nope, still want to shoot you, Batman.  Which one of your Bat Boys is in that room?  Tell him to come out if he doesn’t want to see your brains splattered all over the hallway.”

Red Robin spoke up, “No, I think I’m fine right here, Two Face.  I’m just waiting for the eventual monologue where you explain your master plan to us.  Make it interesting this time, will you?”

“Little brat.  You care so little for Batman’s continued health that you’re disobeying orders from the man holding his life in his hands?”

Red Robin moved to the side of the room, where he could just see the unscarred portion of Two Face’s face.  He smiled past the man and said, “No, just waiting for you to realize that you missed two important things tonight.”

The former District Attorney snarled, “Oh yeah?  What did I miss?”

Batman spoke, picking up on where Red Robin was heading with his line of thought.  “What does chance say about this decision of yours, Harvey?  You should really let your coin decide my fate.”

Two Face looked indecisive for the first time tonight.  “Maybe you’re right, Batman.  Playing both sides is a bit dangerous for you, Batman, but that’s what I like about you.  You’re not afraid to place the big bets.  What is the second thing you claim I missed?”

Two Face fished his lucky coin from his pocket and held it reverently in his right hand.  Batman said, “Flip first, then I’ll tell you.”

Two Face sneered at the vigilante, but tossed the coin anyway.  The coin went up, and Two Face went crashing down to the floor.  “The second thing you missed is when he said there were three of us, Two Face,” Nightwing said from behind the collapsed criminal, holding his favorite eskrima stick in his hand, the same one he just sent violently into the back of Two Face’s head.

Red Robin observed the unmoving criminal and said drily, “It’s so hard to get them to waste time anymore.  You don’t suppose Arkham showed ‘The Incredibles’ during movie night, or something, did they?  Ever since that movie came out, it seems like the villains are getting smarter.”

Nightwing smiled at the teen and said, “Could be, little brother.  Come on, we have another target to find.  The police are here, Batman.  They’re rounding up the kids and holding them in the front.  I called the car around front, too.  SWAT should be up any minute to get these three.”

Red Robin reached down to disarm Two Face, then stood up in horror.  “Batman, look!”

Batman glanced down to where Red Robin was pointing.  On the ground, just an inch from Two Face’s outstretched hand, lay his coin.  It had landed damaged side up, a sign that Two Face would have pulled the trigger.  “Huh.  That’s why we make our own luck, boys.”

Four SWAT officers came boiling out of the mess hall, their rifles pointed at the caped crusaders.  “Gotham PD!  Get down on the ground!  You’re all under arrest!”

Batman turned and shot a glare at the lead officer, who flinched.  “Want to try that again?”

Nightwing tried not to laugh as he said, “We’re the ones who called you in on this, remember?”

The officer approached the three men and said almost sheepishly, “Sorry, Batman.  Bad lighting up here, you know.  I…I couldn’t tell who you were.”

Batman rolled his eyes under his cowl.  “These three are the ringleaders.  Be careful with them.  Two Face should be handled with care on his return trip to Arkham.  The other two were instrumental in running both this place, and the crime spree in the city over the last few months.  Treat them accordingly.  Let’s go, boys.”

Batman, Nightwing, and Red Robin walked away from the officers as they started their work in disarming and cuffing the criminals.  They had another, far more important task to complete now.

 

**A/N: Well, sounds like we’re getting towards the end, right?  I wouldn’t be so sure.  There is still plenty to come, including what some of you have been asking about for the past several chapters.  Next chapter will be a bit shorter than this, but it will be no less impactful to the story as a whole.  Hopefully the next two chapters will be up in the next few days.**

**By the way, I don’t know if Battle Gate is a real game.  I just wanted a name that sounded vaguely Warcraft-esque.  If it is real, then any use of the title is purely unintentional, and no reference to the actual game, if it exists, is intended.  As for the Christmas list line, this chapter is supposed to take place in early to mid- December, making Christmas planning appropriate.**

**Thanks for playing along, I’d love to hear what you think so far.**


	13. 13

School of Wrong

Chapter 13

 

Batman, Nightwing, and Red Robin walked out of the Janus School building and into the blowing snow.  A large canopy had been set up on the grounds, and the now-former students of the school were being processed by overworked police and harried CPS workers.  Calls had been placed to every charity lodging and foster parent in the city, and slowly, the one hundred ninety-four children and teens were in the process of being placed.  Vans were on the way, but until they arrived, a line of officers ran back and forth from the building, pulling out every blanket they could find to keep the children warm while they did their jobs.

Red Robin pulled Batman aside, out of earshot of any officer present.  “Just so you know, when I go back to work on Monday, the Wayne Foundation is starting a new charity.  It’s goal is to house not only these kids, but all the homeless kids in Gotham.  We’ll probably be buying this building and hiring new staff to give these kids a better chance than they had with Two Face.  Someone has to do something.”

Batman nodded, a swift smile gracing his lips for an instant.  “I think that would be nice, and a good use of the Foundation’s time and money.  There will have to be a few fundraisers for that.  Maybe we can start a new trend in the city.”

Commissioner Gordon approached the three vigilantes, greatly wishing he could be somewhere else.  “Do you know how much paperwork you just created for me and my officers, Batman?”

“Would you prefer the unsolved robberies, Commissioner?”

“No, I guess not.  Who are all these kids?”

The four men looked over at the canopy.  Batman said, “These are the unseen victims of Gotham’s underworld.  They were picked up from the streets and given a roof over their heads, in exchange for certain services.  The ones in the gray jumpsuits are the ones who committed the robberies.  The ones in street clothes are just down on their luck kids.  Make sure to get their stories before passing any sort of judgement on them.”

“I will, Batman.” The Commissioner looked at the cut to Red Robin’s face.  “Are you okay, Red Robin?  We have EMT’s on the way if you want that checked out.”

Red Robin had forgotten about the slash to his cheek, after everything had happened.  “This is nothing, Commissioner.  I’ve cut myself worse than this while shaving.”

Nightwing threw an arm around Red Robin’s shoulders and said, “He’s not kidding, but you can really only tell when he wears shorts.”

Commissioner Gordon snorted a short laugh while Batman shot a glare at Nightwing.  “Why don’t you two make a circuit of the kids?  See if there is anything to see?”

Nightwing and Red Robin walked off to the canopy while Commissioner Gordon looked up to the sky.  “It seems like there is a lot going on here that we don’t know about, Batman.  Care to clue me in a little?”

Batman looked back up at the school.  “SWAT should be bringing Two Face out pretty soon.  He had the brilliant idea to use these juveniles to spread a crime wave across the city.  He had an even better idea, at least for him and his organization, to use this set-up as a way to find, recruit, and train new talent to work for him.  I’m surprised no one’s tried it before, honestly.  He led these kids into a life of crime, but he also probably kept some of them from dying on the streets this winter.”

“After all he’s done over the years, Harvey Dent is still in there.”  Jim Gordon nodded his head slowly.  “Whether he knew it or not, his nefarious scheme actually did something good for these kids.”

Batman nodded in return, “He gave them a sliver of hope, and sometimes that is all someone needs in order to change their life.  On the other hand, he still spread a major crime wave across the city.  His cell at Arkham misses him.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back there soon.” The older man shivered in the cold.  “You know, the snow is supposed to stop tomorrow.  You couldn’t have waited another day before busting this ring?”

Suddenly irritated, Batman said, “No, Commissioner, I really couldn’t wait any longer to end this.  I may have waited too long as it is.”

Commissioner Gordon gave the masked man a quizzical look, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Before Batman could answer, Nightwing came running up to the two men, Red Robin hot on his heels.  A note of frantic dread in his voice caused Batman’s stomach to drop.  “He isn’t here!  We checked everyone.  _He’s not there!_ ”

Batman’s jaw dropped, “What do you mean, he’s not there?  Jim, are you sure that this is everyone?  Are you sure that this is all the kids in the building?”

Gordon nodded, “Twenty men cleared the building, Batman.  This is everyone we could find.  What’s going on?”

A commotion at the door of the school caught their attention, and they turned to see four SWAT officers hauling Two Face from the building.  They were followed by two more officers, their rifles pointed at the villain, with orders to open fire if anything were to happen.

Batman growled and swept up to the snarling, spitting, bleeding, former District Attorney, knocking the first two guards aside.  Two Face gave a wicked grin and said, “What’s the matter Batman?  You look like you were expecting to find something.  Or, perhaps, someone?  Could it be that your little stool pigeon is nowhere to be found?”

“Where is he, Dent?” Batman roared at the criminal, scaring the SWAT officers.

“He’s not there, Batman,” Two Face said calmly, with a hint of victory in his voice.  “If everything has gone according to plan, he’s not anywhere anymore.”

Batman gave a wordless scream of anger and frustration.  He grabbed the lapels of the man’s suit, ready to beat the information out of the man if necessary.  Nightwing and Red Robin grabbed Batman, trying to drag him off of the criminal.  The guards took over again and dragged Two Face to the nearby armored van, waiting to transport Two Face back to Arkham.

Two Face yelled back to Batman as he was dragged away.  “You’ll never find him, Batman.  You may have gotten me, but you won’t get him.  Another pawn in your game has been sacrificed.  You lose, Batman.  You failed.  Your little informant is gone.  You have to live with that, Batman.  Your ambition got him killed.  Live with that on your conscience, Batman.”

Batman stared at the building, pained longing only partly hidden by his cowl.  Commissioner Gordon approached the man as Two Face was shackled in the back of the van and taken away.

Commissioner Gordon spoke hesitantly.  “Batman, did you have an informant inside?”

Trying to calm his breathing, which had grown increasingly heavy, Batman growled, “Now do you see why I couldn’t wait any longer to crack this ring?”

Gordon nodded, “I’ll send my men back in, everyone I can spare.  We’ll search this building from roof to basement.  If your informant is in there, we’ll find him.”

“No,” Batman started walking towards the building, Nightwing and Red Robin following close behind, “We’ll take care of it.  Keep your men out.”

“But, Batman, with more men, the search will go faster.”

Batman stopped and wheeled on the older man, struggling to keep up.  He whispered dangerously to the officer.  “It’s Robin, Commissioner.  Robin has been under cover here since October.  He’s out of costume, missing, and most likely injured.  I’m not letting you or any of your men find him like that.  Keep your men out!”

Without waiting for an answer, the vigilantes entered the school building, and took the precaution of closing and locking the front door behind them.  They stood in the entryway, realizing the enormity of the task before them.  There were hundreds of rooms where their lost Robin could have been secreted, and Batman was beginning to lose hope.

Batman turned to Red Robin, approached, and placed his mouth close to the teen’s ear.  “Tim,” he whispered, “Where’s my son?”

Shocked by the use of his name in costume, especially by Batman, Red Robin thought out loud.  “Well, all the students were kept on the first and second floor.  Police must have searched every possible area on these two floors.  Then, there is the third floor and the attic.  It’s a big building, Batman.  My best guess is either the back offices on the second floor, the attic, or some storage closet somewhere.  I’m sorry, I wish I could give you a better answer.”

Batman nodded, frustrated that he couldn’t just open a door and find Damian.  “Okay.  Gordon will only stay outside for so long.  We start at the top and work our way down.  Look everywhere you can.  Red Robin, you take the attic.  Nightwing, the third floor.  I’ll take the second floor.  Call out anything you find.  If you find anything, we will join you as soon as possible.”

The three of them ran for the main staircase and ascended into the higher levels of the school.  Red Robin had the farthest to go, so he ran ahead, hoping that this staircase went all the way up to the attic.  He was in luck.  While the staircase didn’t go all the way to the attic, a door next to the main staircase on the third floor led to the top level.

The dim lighting in the upper reaches of the building gave Red Robin a feeling of foreboding and claustrophobia.  The angled roof and lack of weatherproofing added a chill to the air on this wintry night.  _God, I hope he isn’t up here.  It’s freezing, he wouldn’t have survived long.  Especially after the way John and Two Face were talking about ‘plugging the leak’._

Red Robin shuddered as he took out his flashlight.  Shining his beam around the room surprised him.  The space was much larger than he thought at first.  _This must cover the entire building.  No rooms up here, that’s a relief.  Just one big, open storage space.  A big, open storage space, with dozens of crates stacked all over the place.  Just my luck.  Well, let’s get started.  I have to check all of them._

Red Robin cracked open the first crate he came to, then stepped back in shock.  _This crate is full of cash!  This must be where they are hiding the loot from the robberies._   Another crate, then another, then another, all revealed the same thing.  Stacks of cash, ready for a quick getaway.  _Yeah, quick, if Two Face is going to hire a semi-truck,_ Red Robin smirked.

Red Robin keyed his radio, “He’s not in the attic so far.  It’s an open space up here, but there are dozens of crates and…”

Batman’s voice came through the radio immediately after Red Robin stopped talking.  “…And _what,_ Red?”

Red Robin had scanned his flashlight across the room, looking for anything that might give him a clue as to which of the crates would be holding Damian, when the beam settled on a small lump, covered in a dusty tarp.  _That…that can’t be him.  It’s about the right size, and it’s not moving, but it can’t be him.  It just can’t._

The teen ran across the room, boards creaking ominously underfoot as Nightwing echoed Batman’s request for more information.  Sliding to a halt on his knees next to the tarp, Red Robin couldn’t help but noticed darkened stains on the material.  He couldn’t tell if they were on the top side, or had soaked through from underneath.  His hand shook as he held it over the drop cloth, not wanting to touch it.  Finally, after Batman’s third request for information, Red Robin grabbed the tarp and ripped it back.

“Oh.  Oh, God.  Oh my God.”

Batman sounded frantic over the radio.  “What is it?  I’m coming up.”

“No,” Red Robin sighed in relief.  He had uncovered a pile of haphazardly tossed gray helmets, covered to keep the dust off of them until they were needed.  “It’s okay, Batman.  It’s not him.”

The sighs from Batman and Nightwing were audible over the radio.  “What was it?”

“A pile of helmets under a stained tarp.  It was just lumpy enough to…you know.”

“To scare the shit out of us,” Nightwing finished.

“Yeah, that,” Red Robin said, panting.

“What are in the crates?” Batman asked.

“We’ll have to let the Commissioner know about those.  The ones I’ve opened so far are all full of money.  It must be the result of all the robberies.”

“Okay, keep looking,” Batman ordered.

Several more minutes went by before Nightwing came over the radio.  “Hey, this is interesting.  I found an elevator.  There are six buttons, and the floor I’m on is lit as the top floor.  Sorry Red, I guess you have to find your own way down.”

“Bring it to the second floor, Nightwing.  I’ll join you.”  Batman said, sounding like he was running down the hallway.

Nightwing stepped out of the elevator on the second floor and looked around.  “Batman!  Where are you?”

“Your radio is on, Nightwing.  You don’t have to yell.” Batman’s grumpy voice came first from the earpiece, then from several steps behind him.  Entering the elevator, Batman looked at the number panel.  “We’re on two.  That means there are three basement levels.”

“Where do you want to start?” Nightwing asked.

Batman thought for a minute before saying, “We start at the bottom and work our way up.  If I were Harvey, I would want to have my enemies as far away from me as possible.  He knew that Damian was a spy for me, he said as much.  Whatever happened must have happened on the very bottom sub-basement.”

Nightwing pushed the button and said, “Okay, down we go.”

As the elevator car worked its way slowly underground, radio contact with the surface was cut off with a hiss of static.  Red Robin tried calling to the dynamic duo, but there was no response.  He abandoned the attic and ran back to the first floor.  If there was an elevator, there had to be a staircase.

He chose to check the extreme ends of the hallways, as it had been uncommon for any of the students to venture outside of the normally occupied areas of the building, which were all clustered in the center of the structure.  Following the dorm room side of the building proved to be the right choice.  The very last door at the end of the hallway led to an emergency staircase.  Red Robin had no contact with Batman or Nightwing, so he decided to start at the bottom and work his way up, as he figured Batman would do.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he opened the only door in front of him and entered a darkened hallway.  Something felt right about this to Red Robin, and the flare of hope that entered his stomach matched the flare of light as he flipped the light switch on the wall next to the door.  A bank of dim fluorescents burst into life, revealing a narrow hallway with doors evenly spaced on both sides.  _I wonder if this is left over from the Sanitarium, and why this wouldn’t make it onto the official blueprints.  What did they actually do here?_

The dim light was enough to cause a shout from halfway down the hallway.  Red Robin ran over to find Nightwing bent double, rubbing at his eyes, while Batman looked on and shook his head.

“I told you to just use the flashlight, Nightwing,” Batman grumbled.

Red Robin smiled as he patted Nightwing’s back, “Night vision?”

“Yeah,” Nightwing answered in a pained whisper.  “What’s the point of having the cool toys if we aren’t going to use them?”

“You going to be okay, brother?”

“Yeah, yeah.  Just give me a minute, okay?”

Batman looked up and down the hall.  He counted thirty doors.  Even if none of them were locked, it would still take time to check them all, and he was running out of patience.  “You’re sure he wasn’t outside?”

“Positive, Batman.” Nightwing’s voice was strained as he straightened back up.  “I’ll never forgive myself if we don’t find him.”

Batman glared at Nightwing, “ _You’ll_ never forgive yourself?  I’m the one who sent him in here.  I’m the one who left him here long after it was clear we needed to move on this place.”

Despite their covering lenses, their eyes met.  “We’ll find him,” Nightwing said.

“Look,” Red Robin said, pointing at the floor.  The basement level was obviously rarely used, and as such, there was a fine layer of dust on the ground.  The vigilantes looked at the prints in the sediment, at least, the ones they hadn’t destroyed by moving down the hallway in the dark.  Batman had no problem identifying his and Nightwing’s boot prints in the dust.  Red Robin’s prints came from the opposite direction, leaving three sets of unidentified prints.

One set showed a military-style tread pattern that Red Robin had to assume came from the combat boots John wore every day he was at the school.  A second set of prints showed very little in tread, obviously from the dress shoes that Two Face paired with his suit.  The third set of prints were of generic outdoor boots.  The pattern was scuffed, as if the wearer was dragging his feet.  They were also half the size of the other prints.

Batman gasped as he read the footprints.  “He’s been here.”

“The question is, is he still here,” Nightwing whispered.

The three vigilantes followed the footprints the best they could.  They were led to an unmarked door, three portals beyond where they stood when Red Robin turned on the lights.  Batman looked at the doors to the left and right.  None of them were labeled in any way.  Looking at Nightwing, Batman shrugged and pulled out his lock picks.

A minute later, the old lock gave way to Batman’s ministrations, and the bolt slid roughly into the door.  The vigilante pulled the portal open, and was surprised at the weight of the door.  Glancing at the side of door as he swung it open, he noticed it was of solid steel construction.  This room was designed to keep people in.

An organic smell caused the three to recoil, the smell indicative of the unwashed permeated the air.  The odor of bodily secretions and the stench of fear assaulted their noses as their flashlight beams searched the room.  The room was a solid concrete box.  The air was stale as Batman took a step into the space.  The only ventilation came from the half-inch space between the door and the concrete floor.  This was a room designed to keep those on the outside safe from whoever or whatever was placed on the inside.

Their beams converged on a gray-clad lump lying near the back wall.  The lump didn’t move as the beams traced their way up the figure, stopping on the shaggy, matted hair, covering the face of their lost boy.  Nightwing swayed into Red Robin and groaned as he saw the dried blood stains on both the jumpsuit and the floor.

Batman snapped out of his shock first, and ran into the room, followed closely by his other sons.  He dropped to his knees next to the child and stripped off his gloves.  Tenderly, he touched Damian’s neck, feeling for the pulse of life in his child’s neck.”

“Is he…” Was all Nightwing was able to whisper before Damian gave a soft moan and rolled away from the touch, flopping onto his back.

“He’s alive,” Red Robin gasped as he hugged Nightwing.

“Barely,” Batman said.  “Pulse is weak, breathing is shallow.  He’s lost some blood.”

Batman gently brushed the long, lank hair out of Damian’s face with one hand, while retracting his lenses with the other.  Slowly, bright blue eyes that matched his own flickered open and settled on him.  Batman could tell that something was wrong in an instant.  It didn’t seem like Damian recognized him.  _He must be delirious.  I don’t think he’s eaten or drank anything since they put him in here._

Batman leaned a little closer, hoping to drink his boy in with his eyes, when something strange happened.  Damian started trembling.  His dry, cracked lips began shaking as the corners of his mouth were pulled down into a fierce frown.  Batman looked confused as the boy’s eyes started darting around the room.

Unexpectedly, Damian pushed himself out from under Batman, his feet pushing him the two feet to the back wall of the room.  The vigilantes were so confused, that they let him go.  Somehow, Damian pushed himself up the wall, until he was standing, his hands pressed against the wall, barely holding him up as he swayed, close to collapse.

“Damian…” Nightwing took a step forward, hoping to help.  Damian’s head moved spastically, and it took him several seconds until it seemed like he actually saw Nightwing.

Damian switched his head back and forth, looking for something that none of the vigilantes could see.  _What did they do to him,_ Red Robin thought, as the boy’s head turned in his direction, _it’s like he’s gone feral or something._   Red Robin inched slowly closer, wondering how he could help.

“Damian, please…” Batman took another step forward, his arms outstretched to the confused child.  As Batman stepped forward, Damian sprang off the wall, ducked under Batman’s arm, and headed for the open door.  He barely made it around his father before his strength gave out, and he fell.

“No you don’t,” Red Robin said as he lunged forward and caught the boy before he could hit the floor.  Sitting on his knees, he turned the child in his arms.  _He seems so much lighter than he did before.  I know I’ve been hitting the gym, but I know he’s lost a lot of weight here.  Too much.  We need to get him home._

Red Robin held his brother lightly, and his eyes slowly turned to take in the person who caught him.  A flare of recognition, there and gone in an instant, flashed across Damian’s features.

Damian’s mouth moved, and two quiet, heartfelt words reached Red Robin’s ears, “Save me.”  Damian then groaned and stilled again as he lost consciousness.  He was so still that Red Robin had to check his pulse again, to make sure he hadn’t just heard his little brother’s final words.

“What was that,” Nightwing asked in a scared voice, as he and Batman slowly approached Red Robin, the teen kneeling with Damian cradled in his lap.

“I thought he would be happy to see us,” Batman whispered.

Red Robin looked up, then back down at the boy in his arms, before saying quietly, “He wasn’t.  He was terrified.”

 

**A/N: Well, they found him.  Like I said before, if you think this story is over, you are sorely mistaken.  There is plenty more to come, but this should offer a bit of foreshadowing for the next problem.  Next chapter will see the rescue from Damian’s point of view, and will continue the story from there.  In case it isn’t clear, which is mostly my fault, because of the necessary gap in posting, chapters 12, 13, and 14 all take place on the same night.**


	14. 14

School of Wrong

Chapter 14

 

Damian swam gently back to consciousness.  Unlike all the other times he had awoken in the dark room, this time there was no pain.  The sensation of Batman’s fingers, checking the pulse in his neck, didn’t register with his brain.  His thoughts were far darker than the room surrounding him.

_Huh, I don’t hurt anymore.  I must have finally died.  Well, it’s about time.  Starving to death is no fun whatsoever.  Okay, so…I’m dead.  Not quite what I was expecting, but, then again, who expects death to be this…bland?  I’m dead, but I can still think.  I still have conscious thought, so obviously one of those religions got something right.  What do I want to place my bet on?  Heaven?  The Elysian Fields?  Valhalla?  Wings and a harp?  Seventy-two virgins?_  The twelve year old part of his conscious mind took over for a second at that thought.   _I could have had fun with seventy-two virgins.  Too bad I couldn’t get that part while I was still alive._

He heard his name being called, as if from a great distance, yet growing slowly closer.  _They seem to be expecting me.  What else do the dead have to do all day?  This must be the highlight of their day.  They have all eternity, meeting someone new has to be a high point.  I wonder if there’s an announcement when someone new dies.  Someone is calling me, I guess I should get it over with.  I guess I can at least meet…whoever it is.  Let them know where I am, at least.  It sounds like they are a long way off.  I should probably chance opening my eyes.  That way I can see where I ended up._

Damian slowly opened his eyes, or at least, he thought he did.  What he saw was pitch black, with a haze of murky gray at the bottom edge of his vision.  A hand, not his own, wiped gently across his face, clearing the veil from his eyes.  A dark and pointed outline, eminently familiar and infinitely frightening, loomed over the boy.

_Ah, I see.  Hell, then.  I guess I deserve that.  I did kill a lot of people in my life.  I could have been a much better person, if I just tried a little harder.  So…eternal damnation, then.  Overall, not as bad as I thought it would be.  Just…why does the Devil have to take_ that _shape?_

The pointed cowl loomed closer, eye lenses retracted, and bright blue eyes, strangely visible in the dusk of the room, met his own matching pair.  What should have been a comforting sight instilled terror, as Damian remembered the last time he had been this close to the man hovering above him.  The expression on the face above changed inexplicably to a look of confusion, as the expression on Damian’s face, unbeknownst to him, morphed into a rictus of fear.  Tears were loosed to run down the boy’s dirty face as an increasing tremble took over his body.  Summoning strength he shouldn’t have had, Damian scooted out from under Batman.  He pushed himself to the rear wall of the room, then used that to prop himself up into an unsteady standing position.

His name was called again and his head snapped in a new direction.  There, as if materializing from the darkness, Nightwing appeared.  Something deep in his mind told him that this once-beloved figure was also instrumental in his current situation, and should be just as suspect as Batman.

Looking for an escape, a third, shadowy form stood between himself and the dimly lit portal that promised safety.  _I’ll never make it past them in my condition, and even if I do, where will I go?  I’m dead, they’ll just…find me again.  I really shouldn’t run; it won’t really do me any good, and it may just make them madder.  I’m Robin, I can take whatever they dish out._

Damian swayed dangerously on his feet, close to collapse.  Batman took another step forward, and despite his thoughts of not running, Damian pounced.  Using the very last of his energy reserves, Damian slipped around the Bat, and had a clear line for the door.  He took one step, and that was all he had.  He fell, but was kept from hitting the painfully hard-looking floor by the third figure in the room, as Red Robin gently caught the falling boy.  Looking up blearily, delusional, into the smooth cowl of his youngest older brother, a memory of the teen encased underneath, trying to keep him out of the wind in an alley behind a Gotham tenement building, flooded into his mind.  He knew he could trust the older boy, who seemed to be holding Damian on the threshold of heaven and hell.  Giving in to his last, desperate gamble, Damian opened his mouth and rasped “Save me,” out of his desiccated throat, before succumbing to his weakness and losing consciousness again.

“What was that,” Nightwing asked in a scared voice, as he and Batman slowly approached Red Robin, the teen kneeling with Damian cradled in his lap.

“I thought he would be happy to see us,” Batman whispered.

Red Robin looked up, then back down at the boy in his arms, before saying quietly, “He wasn’t.  He was terrified.  Didn’t either of you see it?  Didn’t you even expect it as a possibility?  Look at him.  The two of you beat him.  Two-Face’s men obviously did a number on him.  He’s been left down here to die in the dark for who knows how long.  Did you actually expect him to jump into your arms?”

Batman straightened up as he realized Red Robin was absolutely right.  Damian acted exactly as Batman should have expected him to.  A deep depression, only recently held off by the prospect of recovering his son, returned to settle over the man.  He said huskily, “Come on, let’s get him home while he’s still unconscious; it’ll be easier to get him past the police that way.  Alfred’s got his work cut out getting him healthy again.  Nightwing, you’re not going to like this, but you and I need to stay away for a while.  We need to let him decide how quickly we can approach again, if he will let us at all.”

Nightwing gave a strangled sob at that news as they left the room, Red Robin in the lead, carrying Damian.  Nightwing and Batman both gasped audibly as they saw the youngest Wayne in the light for the first time.  He was painfully skinny, and there were bruises over every exposed bit of skin visible.  His hair was lank, and matted with blood from the numerous cuts visible on his face.  Red Robin tried not to think of the last time he carried an unconscious Robin, but the visual would not leave his mind.  _At least nothing is dangling or broken this time_ , he thought.

“Wait,” Nightwing said as they returned to the first floor of the school building.

Red Robin stopped as Nightwing approached.  The oldest son caressed the abused face of his youngest brother before saying, “Cover him up with your cape, Red.  He can’t be seen like this.”

Red Robin nodded and threw his cape over the lifeless form as Batman said, “When we get outside, whatever you do, don’t stop.  Nightwing and I will stall the Commissioner.  You don’t stop until you get him in the car and under cover.  Understand?”  Batman tucked the cape tightly around his son.

Red Robin swallowed hard, knowing that all of their identities, and their safety, relied on his cape.  Nightwing stepped to the door and looked back at Red Robin, to make sure that everything was in place and ready.  Receiving a nod, Nightwing threw open the door, almost hitting Commissioner Gordon, as the man stood on the front porch of the building to get out of the snow.

“Batman, we were starting to…”  Commissioner Gordon trailed off as he saw the covered and unmoving youth in Red Robin’s arms.  “No…He’s not…”

“He’s unconscious, Jim,” Batman said in a weary voice as Red Robin walked into the wind and the snow to get to the car.  “He’s also out of costume.  I can’t let him be seen like that.”  Jim Gordon looked pained at that news.  In an uncharacteristic turn, Batman said in a kind voice, the kindest the man had ever heard from the vigilante, “I trust you, Jim, but that is one secret that must stay a secret.  I’m sorry.”

Batman and Nightwing followed after Red Robin, when Commissioner Gordon called out, “Wait!”

Batman wheeled back and said, “The school is yours.  I have no need of anything else inside that building.  I do have a need to see to Robin’s health.  Two Face and his men tortured him.  Believe me, if I knew his condition before I handed him over to you, Two Face wouldn’t be on his way back to Arkham; he would be on his way to the morgue.  I need to get him home and see what kind of damage was done.  I’ll talk to you in a few days.  If you need anything before I call, don’t.  I’m not leaving Robin until he’s stable.”  Batman slipped closer still to the older man and said quietly, “By the way, Two Face knows I had a mole in his organization.  He knows that _that_ boy was the mole.  He does _not_ know that the mole was Robin.  If he ever finds that out, I will hold you personally responsible.  I would hate to have to hunt you down, Jim.”

Batman and Nightwing swept away from the stunned police chief and entered the Batmobile.  They were both a bit surprised that Red Robin and Damian were seated in the back, instead of in the passenger seat.

After the canopy closed, but before either could ask, Red Robin said, “He’s still out.  He hasn’t woken up again yet.”  As the car started moving, Red Robin pulled the cape off of Damian’s face, but left it draped over the boy as a blanket.

A frustrated Batman punched the button for the communicator, and grunted out, “Cave.”

Alfred’s worried voice came back immediately, “Do you have him, sir?”

“We have him, Alfred…”  Batman broke off.  He couldn’t say anymore.

“…Sir?” Alfred asked after a silent minute.

Bruce’s voice answered, surprising all who heard it, “Call Leslie, Alfred.  It’s bad…It’s _so_ bad.  We’re on our way.  We’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”

“She is already on her way, sir.  Are there any more injuries she should be prepared to treat?”

“No, Alfred.  Just Damian.  Forty-five minutes, Alfred.  Out.”

Batman cut off any reply the butler may have made as he pushed the car past its normal autopilot cruising speed of eighty miles per hour, straight to a suicidal one hundred ten.  The in-car computer flashed danger signs on every display possible, warning the driver of the danger of driving at this speed on snow-covered mountain roads.  Batman didn’t think about the warnings, or the danger, his only thought was _my son hates me, my son is scared of me.  What kind of monster am I?_

Batman caught movement in the rearview mirror, and had to physically restrain himself from whipping around to see what was going on.  “Red Robin, what is it?  Is he awake?  Is he moving?”

“Sorry, Batman,” Red Robin said quietly, “That was me moving.  Damian was shivering.  It was freezing in that room.”

Batman took a longer look in the mirror and saw that Red Robin had removed his cape and bundled Damian as tightly as he could in the material.  Batman was kicking himself for not pulling a blanket out of the trunk before speeding off; he should have known that his son would be cold after being locked in a concrete box for days.  He almost missed a turn as he watched the teen pull the boy into his lap and wrap his arms around the small bundle.  Unconscious, Damian sighed and rested his head against Red Robin’s shoulder.  Batman cranked up the heater.  He didn’t care if the rest of them melted, so long as Damian was comfortable.

“Be careful of his arm, Red,” Nightwing whispered, only looking back every three seconds.  “His cast looked like someone stomped on it.”  Red Robin nodded softly, not turning his eyes from Damian’s abused face.

The rest of the trip back to the cave passed in an uncomfortably tense silence.  Batman barely waited until the car stopped moving before ripping off his cowl, opening the canopy, and reaching for his son, still held tightly by Red Robin.

“Tim, give him to me.”

Tim was reluctant to let the boy go, now that they had him back.  “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Bruce?  Remember what he did when he saw you in the room.”

Bruce flinched, “He saw Batman.  Maybe he won’t have the same reaction to me.  Besides, he’s still unconscious, right?”

Tim sighed, “Yeah, he is.”

“Then give him to me, so we can get him fixed up.”

Tim slowly handed the boy over, and didn’t miss the shocked expression that crossed Bruce’s face when he felt how light his son was.  Nightwing flitted around like a nervous bird as he followed Bruce to the medical bay.  Tim pulled his cowl off as he got out of the Batmobile and followed behind.

Alfred gasped as Bruce rushed into the medical room of the cave.  Bruce looked around as he lay the boy on an exam table.  “Where’s Leslie, Alfred?”

“I expect her presently, Master Bruce.  It is snowing, after all, and she isn’t known for driving as fast as Batman, even on clear roads.”

“Would one of you boys go wait for her?” Bruce called over his shoulder.

Dick shook his head, his eyes never leaving Damian’s face.  “We really ought to give her her own key, Bruce.”  He inched forward, his bared hand reaching slowly for Damian’s.

Alfred, bustling around the room, intentionally ran into Dick’s arm, shocking him into looking at anything else.  “Master Dick, your brother isn’t going anywhere for quite a while.  It is below freezing outside, and we don’t want Dr. Thompkins waiting on the porch.  Go change and wait for her in the foyer.  You are just in the way standing there.”

As Tim pulled Dick away from the table and to the changing room, Alfred could hear Dick say, “Why don’t you go wait for her, Timmy.  You got to hold him the whole way home.”

Bruce was fumbling with the zipper on the boy’s jumpsuit with a shaking hand.  Alfred grabbed the hand gently and waited for Bruce to meet his eyes.  When their eyes met, Alfred said softly, “You should change as well, Master Bruce.  Let me get him cleaned up and ready for the doctor.  Get changed, then come back and help me.”

Bruce silently nodded, then placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder for a second before running to the changing room.  Alfred waited a second to make sure the others were gone before turning back to his patient.  “Well, young man.  While I’m sure you were as careful as you could have been, I am not pleased at the outcome of this mission.  Neither is your father, I would assume.  Come, child, let’s get you cleaned up.  You are a bit aromatic for my taste.”

Alfred stripped the soiled gray garment as gently as he could from the boy.  He tried not to shudder as he found he was able to count every one of the boy’s ribs above his concave stomach.  He gently brushed two distinct, large bruises on Damian’s chest before saying, “I see a few good meals are in order.  When was the last time you ate, child?”

A gasp at the door drew Alfred’s attention.  Dick sagged against the doorway as he saw how skinny his brother was.  “Alfred, is he going to be okay?”

“Of course, Master Dick.  I won’t allow anything else in this house.  Has your brother gone upstairs to wait for Dr. Thompkins?”

Dick nodded, again not able to take his eyes from his brother.  “Yeah, Timmy went to wait for her.”

“Well, then,” Alfred turned to the man and said, “You might as well help me get him cleaned up.  In the third cabinet are some rags and a bowl.  Fill it with warm water and a little soap, and bring it to me.”

Bruce ran back into the room as Dick set to filling the bowl.  “What can I do, Alfred?”

“Get me a saline bag and IV kit.  We should start rehydrating him first before we worry about feeding him.  I have a feeling that he will be on IV nutrition for a while.”

Dick brought the bowl over, spilling several large sloshes of soapy water on the floor due to his shaky hands.  He was surprised when Alfred began cleaning the boy’s arm and side first, instead of going for Damian’s face.  “Alfred?”

“I need the alcohol and some gauze, Master Dick.  In answer to your unasked question, I need a sterile place for his IV needle, which is why I’m cleaning his arm first.”  Alfred took the IV kit and bag from the equally shaky hands of his employer before saying, “Master Bruce, the portable X-ray machine.  I fear we shall need it before the night is over.”

A minute later, a feminine voice broke through the tense silence of the medical bay.  “Oh, Christ!  Bruce, before I do anything, I need to know something.  Is this the result of that ‘important mission’ that you begged me not to stop?”

Bruce looked eminently guilty as he rubbed the back of his neck.  “Um…yeah.  I’m sorry, Leslie.  I never thought it would lead to…this.  Please, help my son.”

Leslie shot Bruce a look that rivaled the Bat-glare as she turned to Damian.  Taking vital signs, she said, “At least tell me that something very important was accomplished that will make up for this.  Alfred, do you have a vitals monitor?”

“Coming, Doctor.  Master Bruce, _was_ anything accomplished tonight?”

Bruce sighed, “Two Face is back in Arkham, and the ring that has been pulling the jobs around the city has been broken up.  Little consolation for all this, though.”

Dr. Thompkins finished hooking Damian up to the monitor, and sighed at the readout she was seeing.  She turned to the butler and asked, “Alfred, is this the first bag of saline he’s been given?”

“Yes, Doctor,” he replied as he finished hanging the bag on the IV pole.

Dr. Thompkins adjusted the flow rate before pulling up a chair and sitting down.  “You may as well finish cleaning him up, Alfred.  We have time.”

Bruce’s eyes bulged out of his head as he saw Leslie sit back and cross her legs.  “Leslie!  What are you doing?  He needs help; help him.”

Leslie stood and looked Damian over before placing her hands on either side of the boy’s broken nose and forcing it back into place with a gut-churning crunch.  The four standing men winced while the boy gave an unconscious whimper.

Leslie turned back to Bruce and gave him a look of defiance.  “That is all I’m prepared to do until he is a little more stable.  Look at his vitals, Bruce.  He’s very shocky.  I want him to have at least that full bag of saline before I would risk doing anything more in-depth.  And before you ask, I don’t feel comfortable adjusting the flow rate to anything higher than I set it at.  I don’t want to send his system into arrest.  We have a few minutes, so why don’t you tell me what happened leading up to…this” She ended by gesturing at the emaciated boy having his body scrubbed on the exam table.

Bruce recounted everything he could remember about the school, the crime wave, the undercover mission, Tim’s ransom, the bust at the school, and Two Face’s boast that Batman’s informant was dead.  He started out speaking in a business-like tone, but finished sounding more like a confessor, begging for absolution.

The medical bay rang with silence after Bruce finished.  Leslie slowly stood up and hugged Bruce for a long minute before saying slowly, “I understand why you did what you did, and I believe that you may accomplish something good out of this whole situation, once Tim gets the charity up and running.” Leslie let go of Bruce, then took a step back and slapped him hard across the face.  As Bruce was holding his cheek, she continued, “But, no disrespect to your loving parents, you are a bastard for the way you got your results.  What gives you the right to sacrifice your sons in this way?  Where do you get off sending them onto the streets of the city in order to get picked up by a school run by a master criminal?  There are so many ways this mission could have ended with a double funeral, or worse.  You may have never seen them again, never heard from them again, and never found out why.  Do you know how many people simply disappear from this city daily?”

“You’re right, Leslie.  You’re right.  Everything you’ve said is everything I’ve been thinking for the past couple months.”

Leslie continued, like she hadn’t heard anything Bruce said.  “And then, once you found out who was behind everything, you let this ‘mission’ go on for two more weeks?  What was left to be accomplished, Bruce, besides assuring that you struck fear into your own flesh and blood?  You said he ran from you tonight?  Frankly, I’m not surprised.  It’s a good sign that he was awake at all, after who knows how long in that room.”

Leslie stuck an accusing finger in Bruce’s face, forestalling any further comment.  “Let me tell you, Bruce.  I’ve looked the other way for far too much over the years, with what you’ve done to these boys.  This lifestyle you brought them into, it’s bordered on child abuse many times in the past, but now, it actually is.  You admitted to beating your son to a mandated reporter, Bruce.  Tell me why I should turn my back this time.”

“You shouldn’t,” Bruce said in a pained whisper.  “If there was some way to do it without compromising Batman, I would turn myself in.”

Leslie turned back to the boy on the table and said in a soft voice.  “If this is what happens when life gets in the way of Batman, then maybe Batman is doing more harm than good.  Maybe Batman should be brought in to pay for _his_ crimes for once.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a long time before speaking again.  “One hundred ninety-four kids are now being placed in group homes, foster placements, and probably, juvenile detention.  They were taken from a warm place where, for the most part, they were well taken care of, and are now wards of the system.  Four kids are being held over for trials after being arrested committing crimes in the name of helping out their home.  One kid was shot and killed by the police, doing the same thing.  The city wanted the crimes to stop.  Well, they will, until the next criminal enterprise or larceny ring shows up.  Does stopping one crime justify the committing of another?  I used my sons to my own means.  Damian is going to have some serious trauma to overcome in the coming weeks.  Tim is just barely getting over it, if he’s even that far recovered.  Do what you will with me, Leslie, I won’t fight you.  I probably deserve far worse than the criminal justice system would give me.  Just, whatever you decide to do, do it after Damian is stable and on the road to recovery.  That’s all I ask.”

Leslie nodded, not looking at Bruce.  “That is the one thing we agree on, Bruce.  I won’t do anything until my patient is out of the woods.  I have no reason to hold any of this against him.  From everything I’ve heard, Damian performed far beyond anything that should have ever been asked of him.  He deserves for us to go above and beyond for him now.”  Leslie checked the monitor, then the saline bag.  “Alfred, prepare another bag, please.  Do you have any of his blood?”

Alfred took another saline bag from storage and said, “We do, but it is about ninety days old.  He hasn’t been here to replace what we keep on hand.”

Leslie shook her head, “That’s too old.  You might as well dump it.  How about plasma?”

Alfred nodded, having finished scrubbing Damian while Leslie was yelling at Bruce.  “One unit of plasma, coming up.”

Leslie caught the defeated look on Bruce’s face and said, “Stay out of the way, Bruce.  That’s the best thing you can do right now.”

Bruce nodded silently and stepped outside of the medical bay to watch from the door.  Dick and Tim followed him out silently, both doing their best not to break down at the thought of Bruce being accused of child abuse and facing jail time.  The loss of their nightly activities, and possibly their own arrest for vigilantism, that would accompany Bruce’s charges, never crossed their minds.  With nothing else to do, the three men slipped away to the locker room to take the showers they neglected following their return to the cave.

Leslie and Alfred worked for several hours to stabilize Damian.  After a thorough head-to-toe exam and a series of X-rays of questionable areas of the boy’s body, he was given a more in-depth scrubbing, and a much-needed haircut to remove the soiled and matted locks.  His medical treatments completed, Leslie exited the medical bay and found Bruce sitting at the computer, deep in thought.

Bruce started when Leslie spoke from close behind the man.  “For as bad of shape as he is in, he’s doing okay.  His vitals have stabilized.  He’s had several units of saline, and Alfred has prepared nutrient solutions for his current and next units of fluids.  Fortunately for him, his kidneys still work.  Unfortunately for us, we found out that good news the hard way.  Alfred’s mopping it up as we speak.  We took X-rays of his head, chest, and arm.  His arm was the worst of the three.  From the pictures, it looks like the arm was broken, started to heal, then was broken again and not reset properly.  From the calcifications on the second break, it looks like it had been about a week since it was broken for the second time.  I had to re-break it to set it properly before putting a new cast on it.  He’s going to be complaining of pain there when he wakes up, but I don’t advise giving him any pain medications until he is awake.  We want him to wake up soon, so he can tell us if there is anything else wrong that we couldn’t diagnose with him unconscious.  Lucky for you, the only thing broken on his face was his nose.  None of the surrounding bones were broken, but they show signs of deep bruising.  You already told me how that happened.  I taped his nose, to hold it in place while it heals.  His chest has some deep bruising as well, but nothing broken.  Once he wakes up, Alfred can start him on a clear liquid diet.  Best I can figure, he lost about thirty-five pounds since his last check-up.  Bruce, that’s serious.  He didn’t have thirty-five pounds to lose.  His muscle mass shows signs of severe wasting.  His body has eaten away at just about all his body fat.  He needs to rebuild it slowly, so he doesn’t hurt himself.  He needs to stay on complete bedrest at least until he is back on solid food.  You still have the wheelchair, he needs to use that for everything for a while.”

Bruce nodded at the woman as she leaned in and spoke in a quieter tone of voice.  “I’ve been thinking, Bruce.  Any punishment that you may deserve for your part in your son’s condition is justified.  However, you have a far worse punishment coming from him.  Nothing I or the courts can do will match the feeling of having your son scared of your very name.  If even in whatever delirium he was in, he was able to express fear for you, I can only imagine it will be ten times worse when he is cognizant of his actions.  You have a long road ahead of you, Bruce Wayne.  You have a son to nurse back to health, and a damaged relationship to rekindle.  Just remember, you brought this on yourself.

“As much as I hate to admit it, Gotham City needs Batman.  You need to be out there, so that something like this child crime ring can’t happen again.  But don’t think that just because I’ve decided not to report you to CPS, means that I forgive you.  What you did was unforgivable, and I’m not the one who holds your salvation in my hands.  It’s that boy, lying on the exam table, that you have to make it up to.

“Alfred’s getting ready to move Damian up to his room.  You should probably help with that.  It may be the only time you get close to Damian for a while, if his earlier reaction is true.  I’ll be back tomorrow to check on him.  If he hasn’t woken up by then, we will have to take a closer look at his head.

“Bruce, I’ve told you many times over the years, but I’ll say it again.  I hate that you have to be Batman.  Maybe now, that you will be watching your own son heal, you will realize how Alfred and I have felt about your injuries, and those of Dick, and Jason, and Tim, over the years.  All of you deserve better than this.  I wish you could find a way to give that to yourselves.  Until you do, Alfred and I will be here.  I do love you, Bruce.  I’m just not too happy with you right now.  I can see myself out.  You should get in there and look after your son.”

Leslie turned to walk out of the cave, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.  She turned back to see tears standing out on Bruce’s cheeks as he pulled her into a hug.  “Thank you,” was whispered against her ear, before she was released by the man who was sweeping towards the medical bay.

 

**A/N: It looks like there are five or six more chapters to go.  As soon as I can, I will get back to it.**


	15. 15

School of Wrong

Chapter 15

 

“What do you think, Doctor?”

Dr. Thompkins took the stethoscope buds out of her ears and walked to the door of Damian’s room, where Alfred stood.  “I think, Alfred, that we’ve gone as far as we can, at least until he wakes up.”

Alfred sagged minutely before straightening again.  Only through their extended acquaintance did Leslie notice the momentary loss of posture.  “When do you suppose that will be?  It’s been two days.  His vital signs have stabilized.  He has gone through much of our stock of saline.  What do you suppose is preventing him from awakening?”

The old friends looked back at the child before Leslie said, “I think it’s all up to him now.  When he wants to, he’ll wake up.  You know how stubborn Damian can be.”

“I’m not being stubborn, I’m just tired.”  Damian rasped out quietly through dry lips.  “She knew I was awake, why didn’t you, Pennyworth?”

“You haven’t moved in the two days since you’ve been home, young sir.  What else am I supposed to think?”  Alfred’s tone showed annoyance, but inside he was leaping for joy.

Alfred saw the boy crack an eye open just a fraction of an inch before saying, “…And, I actually am at home?  This isn’t another hallucination?  I didn’t actually starve to death in that room?”

Alfred walked to the side of the bed, unable to hide his smile as he took Damian’s hand in his own.  “Yes, dear boy.  You are home.  How do you feel?”

Damian took a deep breath before opening his eyes fully to the dim light of the room.  His answer was delayed as he checked in with his body.  “Hungry.”  Damian tried to sit up in the bed, but was barely able to lift his head.  “…And sore, but mostly hungry.  Help me up, Pennyworth?”

Alfred shook his head in a tender way, “You really shouldn’t be moving around just yet, at least not until you’ve regained some strength.”

Leslie approached the other side of the bed and said, “I agree, Damian.  My prescription is plenty of rest and a soft diet for the next few days.  We want to be sure your stomach can handle food before we cut you loose.”

Damian’s eyes widened slightly as he looked at Alfred.  “Pennyworth, you _want_ to help me up, or something…unwanted…will happen.  Please, Pennyworth.”  Damian tilted his head towards the door to his bathroom, then looked back at the butler with some urgency.

“Ah, yes.  Perhaps in this case, Doctor, the patient knows best.  Can you sit up, Master Damian?”

Damian tried to lever himself into a sitting position, which was awkwardly accomplished with only one arm.  His left arm was casted and secured in a sling.  Alfred was pushing the wheelchair over as Dr. Thompkins helped Damian swing his legs off the bed.

The boy’s eyes widened even more, and he said, “Sorry, Pennyworth.  No time for the wheelchair.”

Alfred nodded and swept the light-weight child from the bed, whisking him to the bathroom.

“Hey, I heard voices.  Is everything…oh.  Hi…Damian…sorry.”

Tim had entered the room, smiling at hearing three voices from his younger brother’s room, instead of two.  He stopped in the middle of the room and turned away with a hint of embarrassment, but not before seeing Alfred lowering Damian’s pajama pants and helping the boy position himself on the toilet.

“Hello, Drake.  How exactly is this embarrassing for _you_?  You weren’t the one in danger of wetting the bed.  Given this family, I can’t be the first brother you’ve seen naked.”

Tim still didn’t turn around as he said, “Well, no.  You’re not.  It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting you to be doing when I heard you talking, though.”

Damian heaved a sigh, “Drake, turn around.  I can reach the door from here.  If I cared about you seeing or not seeing something, I would have closed the bathroom door when I saw you walk into the room.”

Tim turned around hesitantly, then gave a bright smile.  “God, it’s good to see you awake, Damian.”

Damian shrugged, “I guess it’s better than what could have happened.”

Tim turned to Alfred and asked, “Do Bruce and Dick know yet?  I’m surprised they aren’t here, too.”

“No, they don’t,” Alfred shook his head.  “They only went to sleep themselves a little over an hour ago.  I expect them to sleep for a few more hours.”

Unseen by anyone else in the room, Damian heaved a sigh of relief.  Tim was speaking to Alfred.  “You finally got them settled, huh?  Did they sit here for the whole two days?”

“Just about, young sir.  I’m glad you were smart enough to take some rest for yourself.”

Leslie looked over at Damian and noticed his cheeks losing color.  “Damian, honey, are you feeling alright?”

Damian shook his head, “Huh?  Fine, Doctor.  Why?”

“Your face looks almost grey.  You’re sure that you’re okay?”

Alfred felt Damian’s forehead, feeling for temperature.  “What is it, young sir?”

Tim looked at the boy shrewdly, his eyes narrowed in concentration as Damian met his eyes and looked away quickly.  “We were talking about…Alfred, Leslie, can I have a minute alone with him?  I think I know what’s going on.  Don’t worry, I’ll get him tucked back into bed.”

Reluctantly, the butler and the doctor left the room.  Damian still wouldn’t meet Tim’s eyes as the teen stared at him.  “Well, are you going to get me back into bed, or what?”

“Are you done?”

The boy nodded his head, “Y-yeah.  You…you figured it out, didn’t you.”

Tim nodded as he slowly walked up to his younger brother, averting his eyes as he slid the pajamas back up to sit at the boy’s waist.  “Can you walk, or do you need help?”

Damian levered himself up to stand unsteadily before Tim.  He took a small step, then another, before his knees started to wobble, and he grabbed on to Tim’s arm.  He looked up sheepishly.  “I need help, Drake.”

Tim smiled back at the boy, supporting his weight on his arm.  Surprising to Damian, Tim knelt with his back to the boy.  Damian stood looking at the teen for a minute as Tim looked over his shoulder and smiled at Damian.

“Drake, what are you doing?”

Tim feigned shock, even though it wasn’t far from his true feeling at the moment.  “You mean to tell me that in all the time you’ve spent with Dick, he’s never given you a piggy-back ride?”

“A what?”  Damian’s confusion at the moment overrode the uncomfortable feeling that came with the mention of Dick’s name.

Tim’s smile brightened, “Hop on, Damian.  It’ll be good for you.”

Damian cocked his head to the side.  “Hop on _what_?  Drake, I can barely stand, and you expect me to hop?”

Tim sighed patiently, “I’ll admit, you probably would have enjoyed this more when we were out on the streets, but better late than never.  Wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist.”

“Only have one good arm, Drake.”

“I’ll go slowly.  It’s only fifteen feet or so.”

“Yes, and if you had just helped me, we could have been there by now.”

Tim’s smile dimmed a shade.  “Come on, Damian.  Have some fun for once.”

“Tt.  Fine.”  Damian didn’t so much hop as collapse onto Tim’s back.  His one good arm wrapped tightly around the teen’s neck, making it hard for Tim to breath.  The legs wrapped around Tim’s waist just a bit hesitantly.

Tim stood suddenly, drawing a gasp from the boy and making him hold on even tighter around Tim’s neck.  _Yeah, I figured he would like the part where he gets to choke me._

For as much as Damian figured it would be an unsteady mode of transportation, he felt oddly comfortable and secure in the teen’s grip.  Tim had placed his arms under Damian’s legs, forming a type of stirrup.  _Huh, this isn’t so bad.  I wonder why Grayson never tried to do this.  He probably figured I would have tried to choke him, which I probably would have.  This is almost like when I was fighting…Batman._

Tim turned his head and tried to look at the boy on his back.  “You okay up there.”

Damian’s face grew even paler as he remembered the bulk of the Dark Knight crashing on top of him as the man fell back, trying to make him one with the pavement.  He began sweating at the fear of that happening again.  Damian’s voice was shaky as he whispered, “Put me down, Drake, please.”

Tim sensed the urgency in Damian’s voice, and made his way quickly to the bed.  Tim sat down, and he could feel Damian cringing, almost as if he expected something to happen.  Tim let go of Damian’s legs and the boy scrambled backwards on the bed, his wide eyes never leaving Tim’s face.

“Damian, what is it?”

“Nothing,” Damian said, his voice high-pitched and bordering on frantic.

Tim remained seated on the edge of the bed, but held his hands up in a placating gesture.  “It’s obviously something, Damian.  Does this have to do with why you don’t want to see Bruce and Dick?”

Damian was breathing heavily, his exhalations shuddering as he closed his eyes and nodded shakily.  Tim nodded sadly, expecting as much.  In a soft tone, Tim said, “Tell me about it.  Tell me about why you’re afraid of Bruce and Dick.”

Damian’s head shot up and his blazing eyes met Tim’s calm ones.  “I’m _not_ scared of Father or Grayson.  It’s just…” Damian’s head fell as he tried to find words to express his emotions.

Tim scooted a bit closer.  He thought of placing a calming hand on Damian’s shoulder, but he wasn’t quite sure how it would be taken.  Tim didn’t think Damian was quite ready for that yet.  He whispered to the boy, “Yes, you are, but it’s okay.  Fear is the beginning of strength, and we never get stronger unless we know what we fear, and why we fear it.  What happened out there?  Talk to me, Damian.  You know I won’t judge you.”

Tim was surprised to see tears work their way slowly down Damian’s cheeks.  The boy whispered, “I know why the bad guys fear Batman.  It’s not the suit, or the way he stalks the night, or the voice.  Batman has the Bat-glare, but there is a look worse than the glare.  I saw that look, Drake.  I’ll never forget it, and I hope you never see it.”

Tim was shaken by this news as he crossed his legs under him on the bed and moved closer to Damian.  “Tell me.  Get it all out, Damian.”

Damian took a deep breath and began speaking, his voice a little more than a whisper.  “The night all this happened, Batman and Nightwing chased me and Tommy.  Did he tell you any of this?”

Tim nodded, “They told us some, but they were pretty drunk at the time.”

_Father, drunk?_   Damian almost didn’t believe it.  “We ran, that night.  We weren’t looking for a fight, we were just trying to get back to the van.  They cornered us.  I wanted to give up, but Tommy attacked.  He was really excited about the self-defense classes John and I had been teaching, and the story of you and me taking down Red Hood.  Tommy threw the first blow.  It was a good one, too, but it started something that never should have happened.  I was going to try to stop Tommy and turn ourselves in, but then I saw the van.  They were watching.  I couldn’t just break cover without them seeing.  I tried to communicate with Batman, but I couldn’t get close enough without him attacking.”

Tim looked confused, “Bruce said you threw a trashcan lid at him, then jumped at him from a dumpster.”

“Yeah, I did.  The lid was to slow him down, and keep him in the alley.  I figured if the van couldn’t see us talking, maybe I had a chance of ending this before anyone got hurt.  I jumped, hoping he would catch me.  I wasn’t trying to attack.  He caught me, all right, but before I could say anything, he threw me into the side of a dumpster.  I tried calling out to him, but it knocked the wind out of me for a second.  By the time I got up again, he was in full view of the van.  Batman and Nightwing were closing in on Tommy, so I jumped on Batman’s back, trying to get close to his ear.  I guess the…what did you call it, piggy-back?  It reminded me of that.  Well, Batman must have thought I was trying to choke him, because he fell back, sandwiching me between himself and the sidewalk.”  Damian glanced up at the teen sheepishly, “I…I thought you might try something like that.  Sorry, Drake.”

Tim reached out and rested a hand softly on the boy’s knee.  “I’m sorry, Damian, I didn’t know.  I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known.  I’m not going to hurt you.”

Damian took hold of the teen’s hand, still on his knee.  “I know, Drake.  It’s just…well, flashbacks, I guess.”

Tim nodded slowly, “I get it.  Keep going.  You haven’t gotten to the look yet.”

Damian took another shuddering breath before continuing.  “By the time I was able to get up again, Nightwing had knocked Tommy out.  I saw it happen, Nightwing threw him head-first into a light pole.  I stood up, and they both turned on me.  I should have stayed down, but when have I ever done that?  Well, this time, it cost me.”

Tim was nodding, hanging on every word as Damian continued.  “I was completely defensive.  I threw a couple strikes here and there, but that was just to give me room, or a second to think of a way out.  It wasn’t enough.  They wore me down, and then they struck.  Nightwing broke my arm first.  He aimed a kick to my head, and when I put up a slow block, he pulled his kick.  He tried to break my arm, and did exactly what he tried to do.  And, do you know what he did next?  He laughed.  He _laughed!_   He knew he hurt me, and he smiled and laughed about it.  I felt so…so _betrayed_ in that moment.  Nightwing…Grayson… _Dick_ …my brother threw a kick with the intended purpose of breaking my arm, and was _happy_ when it happened.”

Damian’s breaths were coming in gasps as he got to the heart of his story.  “I tried backing away.  I wanted to run more than anything in that moment, but I couldn’t.  The hurt outside was nothing compared to the hurt inside.  But I forgot about one crucial thing.  I forgot about Batman.  He didn’t forget about me, though.  As I was trying to think of what I could do, Batman grabbed me around the throat and picked me up with one hand.  He didn’t grab my shirt, or my collar, he grabbed my neck, picked me up, and slammed me to the ground.  Then, he knelt over me, and gave me this look.  In the two seconds I had to see it, it said to me, ‘You’ve angered Batman.  I don’t care if you live or die anymore, I’m just going to make whatever time I grant you left to live the most miserable and frightening time of your life’.  I didn’t care that I was getting arrested.  I didn’t care that Batman was about to knock me unconscious, and that Nightwing had already broken my arm.  The thought that went through my mind was, ‘the man making that face, sending that fear through me, sleeps across the hall from me.  He has access to me twenty-four hours a day, and could choose any time to end me if he wanted to.’  That’s the fear, Drake.  Not that Batman _can_ do those things, but that Father _would._

“What did I do wrong, Drake?  What else could I have done?  They were watching, I couldn’t just take off my helmet and talk to Batman.  Why…why…” Tears flowed freely as Damian broke down.  He was engulfed by Tim, as the teen pulled him in to a tight embrace.  “Why did they _do_ that, Tim?  Even if they didn’t know it was me, why would they do that to any kid?  They knew they were fighting someone who at most was a teenager.  Why would they…”

Damian trailed off into sobs as Tim held the boy tightly, one hand cupping the back of Damian’s head while the other rubbed soothing circles into his back. Tim whispered to his brother.  “Shh, Damian.  It’s okay, now.  It’s over.  They won’t try anything like that again.  It’s okay.  I won’t let them hurt you anymore.  Let it out, let it all out, brother.  You’re safe now.”

From the doorway, Alfred held tightly to Leslie as she wiped a silent tear from her eye.  She whispered to Alfred, “I got it wrong, Alfred.  This mission did accomplish something important.  Those two are brothers now.  Damian trusts Tim.  It’s a hell of a way for it to happen, but it’s a worthy cause.”

Alfred whispered back, “It was starting to show before they left for this mission, but it has been cemented now.”

A drowsy voice from behind Alfred startled both of the onlookers.  “Hey, what’s with all the waterworks?  Is something wrong?”

Alfred spun to see Dick walking quickly up to the room.  He tried to intercept the man, but couldn’t get to him before he was in full view of the doorway.  “You must stop, Master Dick.  He is in no mood to see you.”

Dick looked in the room to see Tim hugging the crying boy, “But he’s awake, and he’s crying.  Why’s he crying?  I should be in there, Alfred.”

“Lower your voice, sir,” Alfred commanded.  “Going in there right now will only make things worse.”

“Worse,” Dick was almost apoplectic, “What could be worse than watching this?”

At the sound of Dick’s voice, Damian’s eyes snapped open and locked onto Dick’s.  He began trembling in Tim’s grasp and moaned out, “No…He’s here.”

Tim turned his head and saw Dick trying to get past Alfred.  The butler was putting up an admirable defense, but Tim knew it was only a matter of time before the acrobat slipped past Alfred.

“Do you want me to get him to go away, Damian?” Tim whispered.

Damian lowered his head and nodded, but refused to let go of his brother.  “I don’t want to see him, Drake.  Him or Father.  I…I’m not ready yet.”

Tim nodded slowly, a sad look crossing his face.  “Okay, Damian, but you know you’re going to have to face them eventually, right?”

“I-I know, but not today.  Please, Drake.”

“Okay.  I’ll go talk to him.”

Tim disentangled himself from Damian at the same time that Dick made his way around Alfred and came barging into the room.  Tim intercepted Dick halfway between the door and the bed.

“No, Dick.  I can’t let you do this.  He doesn’t want to see you right now.”

Dick stopped, stunned at the short tone in Tim’s voice.  “I don’t understand, Tim.  What’s going on?”

Dick watched with a pained expression on his face as Damian slipped stealthily from the bed and cowered behind it, his eyes never leaving Dick’s until being blocked by the bed.

Tim tried to get his older brother’s attention, and only succeeded when Damian was out of view.  “Dick, you understand.  I know you do, and if you don’t, then you should.”

“…But, what did…”

“You hurt him, Dick,” Tim sighed as he had to explain what should have been obvious to the man.  “He all but worships you, and you hurt him.  Not only did you hurt him, but you were happy about.”

“We didn’t know, Tim.  How could we…” Dick raised his pleading voice a bit so Damian could hear him.  “We didn’t know, Damian.  We didn’t know.  You have no idea how awful we felt when we found out it was you.”

Behind the bed, Damian was cringing at the sound of Dick’s impassioned plea.  He tried to block his ears, but with only one usable hand, it didn’t work.  Gathering his strength, Damian stood and hobbled to the bathroom.  In the mirror, he could see Tim fighting to hold Dick back, as the eldest son tried to get to Damian to plead his case.  Damian slammed and locked the door, then sat back on the edge of the tub, trying to catch his breath.

_This can’t go on.  Drake and Pennyworth can’t keep them away forever.  To be honest, I’m not sure I even want them to, but it’s too soon right now.  I didn’t think it would be this bad seeing him.  I hope it isn’t this bad when I see Father.  I just need time._

On the outside of the bathroom door, Tim had stopped trying to hold Dick back.  Dick stood with his jaw sagging as he watched Damian do his best to run away from him.  Tim stood next to Dick and said quietly.  “You knew.  You had to know.  Who else could it have possibly been?  Who else could go toe-to-toe with Batman and Nightwing, and stand a chance of surviving long enough to piss you off enough that you would consider breaking bones?  I’ll tell you what he told me, but not here, and not now.”

Dick blinked rapidly against the tears forming in his eyes.  There was nothing he could say.  Tim was right.  In the back of his mind, Dick had known that only Damian could piss them off enough for Batman and Nightwing to react the way they did.  Damian had done his job too well, and Batman and Nightwing made him pay for it.  Now, Dick and Bruce would be the ones who ultimately paid.

Dick let out a harsh sob as he turned and fled from the room.

_Later that night…_

“You know, Big Bird, it’s a good thing I don’t have a reason to want to attack you right now.  For as long as I’ve been standing behind you, there is very little I couldn’t have done to you.”

Nightwing almost jumped as Red Hood made his presence known.  “I knew you were there,” Nightwing tried to cover, “Maybe I wanted you to attack me.”

“Not likely,” Hood said, slinging himself down casually on the edge of the roof, beside where Nightwing sat, with his legs dangling off the edge of the building.  Nightwing turned his head to look at his younger brother, tears leaking from beneath his mask.  Despite his assertions of gruffness, Red Hood gasped.  “What happened?  Did a perp hurt your feelings?”

“Aren’t you a little far north from your territory, Hood?” Nightwing asked, a little more harshly than he intended.

Something was obviously bothering Nightwing, so Red Hood ignored the tone of the comment.  “You and Batsy have been falling down on the job lately, so I’ve had to pick up some of the slack.  Excuse me if I have to leave my territory to take care of your business.  Come on, you’ve never cried in costume.  What’s going on?”

Nightwing took a ragged breath, “We took down Two Face a couple days ago, and the crime ring he was heading.”

“The same one Burger Boy and Demon Brat were infiltrating?”

Nightwing glared at the use of the names, but continued, “Yes.  Their mission went south.  Red was uncovered, which put Robin under increased scrutiny.  We had to pay the ransom for Red to get him back safely, but Robin was still under.  We thought he was safe, until we ran into him.  He was pulling another job for the school, trying to maintain his cover.  Batman and I ran across him and his new partner.”

Red Hood looked around, “Speaking of Batman, where is he tonight?”

“At home, probably at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.  I should probably be there with him, but I had to get out of the house for a while.”

Red Hood was shocked.  _What could have gone so wrong to get Dick crying in costume and Bruce turning to alcohol?_   “Well, are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?”

“Robin got worked over pretty bad.  He was beaten, locked in a room, and left to die.  He made it; we found him in time, and he’s on his way to a recovery.”

“Wow,” Hood said, “Batman must have gone ape-shit on Two Face after something like that.”

Nightwing shook his head, “We didn’t find out about that until after we took down Two Face and he was hauled away.  He would have, though.”  Nightwing looked into Hood’s helmet, wondering what his brother was thinking.  He decided to make an educated guess.  “He wouldn’t have killed Two Face, but it would have been close.  It would have been just like with the Joker.  Batman would have beaten the hell out of him, then turned him over to the police, just like he did the next time he saw the Joker after…well, after.”

“It’s okay, Big Bird.  Robin is his own son.  I…understand…if Batman has a more…definite…response to whatever happens to him.”  It surprised Red Hood as much as Nightwing that he actually meant what he said.  _Careful, Hood.  Keep this up and someone might think you actually care for the little shit.  Still, he isn’t too bad, I guess, when you really think about it._

Red Hood shook himself after a minute of silent introspection.  “Okay, so he’s home.  Why the tears?”

Nightwing sighed heavily before admitting his guilt in the situation.  “Two Face may have put a hurting on him, but they weren’t the first injuries he received that night.  Robin tried to pull with us the same thing he did with you.”

“He attacked?” Red Hood asked, shocked.

“Well, his partner did, but Robin was pulled into it out of necessity, to maintain his cover.  I guess he tried to tip off Batman that it was him, but we missed the hints.”

“Oh, no.”

Nightwing nodded.  “Yeah.  Long story short, I broke his arm, while Batman tried to pound his face into the sidewalk.  He’s been unconscious since we brought him home, at least, until a couple hours ago.  He…he asked if Red Robin and A…you know who, would cover for him and tell Batman and myself that he was still unconscious.  We scared him, and now…and now…”

Nightwing leaned against the flustered Red Hood and started sobbing.  “He hates me, Jay.  He hates me.  I don’t know what to do with that.  He can’t stand the sight of me.  He’s scared of me.  I mean, I can understand why, but he won’t even give me the chance to try and make up for it.”

Red Hood awkwardly patted Nightwing’s back, wishing they weren’t sitting on a rooftop for this conversation.  Like everyone else in their life, Hood couldn’t stand it when his older brother was sad or hurting.  It made him want to do things, things that were either out of line with his created persona, or things that the older man would not appreciate being done in his name.

“Come on, Dick,” Red Hood whispered in his brother’s ear, “This is your Little D we’re talking about.  I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.”

“He hid when I walked in the room, and when I tried to talk to him, he ran to the bathroom and locked the door.  He was shaking, Jay.  D doesn’t do that.  Not…not when it’s something _I_ did to him.  I feel terrible, Jay.”

They were silent for several minutes as Nightwing cried himself out and Red Hood tried to comfort him.  After longer than Red Hood was comfortable holding him in public, Nightwing finally disentangled himself from his brother.

“Thanks for listening, Hood.”

Red Hood nodded as he stood up, “Do you feel any better?”

Nightwing accepted Hood’s hand to help him up and said, “No.  I actually kinda wish you had just hit me when you showed up.  I deserve it.”

“Maybe you do,” Red Hood smirked under his helmet, “But, it wouldn’t mean as much, coming from me.  I’m not the one who needs to grant your absolution.  Maybe you should be crying to him.”

Nightwing hung his head.  “If I thought it would do any good at this point, I would.  He doesn’t even want to be in the same wing of the house as me right now.  I don’t see how I can get him to talk to me.”

Red Hood patted Nightwing’s shoulder, a far gentler display than Nightwing was expecting.  “You’ll think of something.  Come on, let’s get you home.”

Nightwing looked shocked, “You’re coming home with me?”

Red Hood laughed aloud.  “Uh…no.  It already sounds like you have enough going on there without adding me to the mix.”

“You’re always welcome, Red.  Batman told you as much when you stayed over last month.  Besides, we may have a lot going on right now, but there is no way your presence could make things any worse.  Red Robin told me that Robin is starting to warm up to you.  Maybe you can talk to him.”

Red Hood scoffed, “Robin said that?  Somehow I don’t believe you.”

“Baby Bird told me that D admitted to it the night they ran into you outside of the convenience store.  His words were, ‘This is the only time I’ve been encouraged to hit my brothers, so I needed to enjoy it’.  He specifically called you his brother.”

Red Hood winced at the remembered pain of their encounter.  He grumbled, “He sure has a funny way of showing it.”

Nightwing tried to read the impassive helmet for any signs of what his brother might do with this new information.  He finally had to ask.  “What are you going to do, Hood?”

Red Hood looked out at the city.  “I’m going to finish your patrol.  You’re going to go home and find a way to work this out of your system.  It could have been someone far worse than me who found you crying like a little girl tonight.  That can’t happen.”

Nightwing cracked a smile for the first time that night.  “Aww, Jay, you do care.”

“Go home, Nightwing.  If nothing else, you can pull Batman out of the current bottle he’s in.  Or, crawl in after him, whatever suits your mood.  But, don’t let me catch you crying on any more rooftops, okay?”

Red Hood launched his line and swung off into the night without waiting for an answer.  Nightwing watched him go, the glow of brotherly contact fading fast.  He thought ahead to what was waiting at home for him.  _I’m still no closer to solving this than I was half an hour ago.  Jay did help me with one thing, though.  I really shouldn’t be out here like this.  I think I really did want someone to come along and take a swing at me tonight.  Probably would have let them hit me, too._

_Might as well go home and pickle my brains with Bruce.  If I’m going to be this worthless, I might as well not feel it for a while.  I can crawl into the bottle with him.  Hell, the wine cellar is fully stocked, I can get one of my own.  Okay, sounds like a plan._

Nightwing launched his own line and disappeared into the Gotham night.

 


	16. 16

School of Wrong

Chapter 16

 

The dawn was just barely breaking over the hills surrounding Stately Wayne Manor, bathing the ancient structure in a soft, wintry light.  A layer of snow surrounded the house, covering the manicured lawns and shrubs of the palatial estate.  Smoke drifted lazily from several chimneys extending above the dwelling, to be sent at angles up to the sky, as a light wind blew towards the east.

Inside the Manor found one of the rare occurrences of life among the Wayne family, quiet.  The early hours of the day usually only found one resident of the house up and about.  Much like Bruce’s day usually ended long after midnight, Alfred’s day usually started before dawn.  Today appeared like it would be a lighter day for the butler.  A quick dusting run of the lower level would be followed by rearranging the furniture in the formal living room.  Christmas was approaching, and he needed to make room for the traditional tree that was the usual hallmark of the season in the formal living space.

Not that he figured there would be much festivity in the house this year.  The mood in the house had been strained over the past week, since the rescue of his youngest charge.  Damian was recovering well from his injuries.  Alfred had weighed the boy yesterday and found that he had already regained nine of the thirty-five pounds he lost in captivity.  His cheeks were no longer sunken and drawn, and his color was much better.  His bruises were fading to the point where Alfred had to examine them under direct light to make most of them out.  Damian still complained every now and then about his nose being sore, especially with all the blowing he had been doing lately.  It seemed like Damian might be catching a bit of a cold, but if he was, it was very slow in its onset.

In normal ‘Damian’ fashion, the boy was pushing his recovery far too hard.  Every day, Alfred found Damian trying something that the butler thought was beyond his current condition.  Damian was refusing to wear the sling on his left arm, despite warnings from both Alfred and Dr. Thompkins to take it easy.  Damian always rebutted that he was bored and didn’t want to be waited on like an invalid.  Personally, Alfred agreed that Damian should be helping himself out as much as possible, but he had to draw the line quite harshly the previous day, when he found the recovering child doing push-ups.

While his physical recovery was progressing ahead of schedule, his psychological recovery was far from ideal.  Damian had never been a talkative boy, but it seemed now he was refusing to speak; at least, to certain people.  Alfred found that the only person in the house that the boy was seeking out the company of was Tim.  Alfred had not risen or fallen in Damian’s estimations, and there had always been a professional respect for Dr. Thompkins from the occasional patient.  Alfred had even overheard Damian ask Tim if he had heard from Jason a couple days ago.

However, it seemed that the boy’s two heroes had fallen from their pedestals.  Bruce, ever one to have a tempestuous relationship with Damian, seemed to understand that Damian needed time and space to heal.  He hadn’t pushed things, but Alfred could see the strain it was causing his employer.  Every night this week, Alfred had found Bruce standing in the hall outside Damian’s locked bedroom door, with either a hand or his forehead pressed lightly against the cold wood.  The last couple nights had found the man leaning more heavily against the portal, using it to hold himself up in his alcohol-fueled haze.  Bruce was falling apart, and there was nothing Alfred could do about it.

If Bruce was falling apart, Dick was already in pieces.  He had taken it the hardest when he found himself forcibly shut out of his little brother’s life.  The man lived for his siblings, and to lose one due to his own actions was more than he could take.  Dick just couldn’t understand that Damian didn’t want to see him.  Dick spent hours trying to find ways to ‘accidently’ run across his brother, or come up with an excuse to talk to the boy.  Alfred admired his perseverance, but he also realized that the harder Dick tried, the worse he felt when he failed to break through Damian’s shell of hurt and pain.

Dick was keeping up with Bruce’s drinking like a champ.  He easily matched Bruce’s consumption, and as such, there were noticeable gaps in the Manor’s liquor storages.  Alfred was both impressed and disappointed when, cleaning Bruce’s office yesterday, he found seven empty bottles of one hundred fifty year old brandy which, the previous day, had been locked away for very special occasions only.  Alfred knew there was a problem, he understood the causes, he saw the effects, but the solution would not be coming from him.  There was only one person in the house who could end the liver abuse currently being commiserated by his eldest charges.  It had to end, if for no other reason than the fact that the second and third oldest residents of Wayne Manor had managed to consume close to twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of liquor in just a week.  They didn’t go through that much during society events held at the manor.

The butler found himself staring out at the peaceful blanket of snow covering the back yard while the day’s breakfast components of bacon and sausage slowly browned in a pan on the stove.  He would start the eggs in a few minutes, when he figured they would still be able to be kept warm until someone came down to eat them.  He slightly cocked an ear, listening down the hall to a half-heard whisper of a thought of a scuff on the hardwood flooring that dominated the downstairs of the house.  What he first thought might have been the pop of bacon grease in the pan, turned out to be something else entirely, putting a small smile on the old man’s face.

Alfred didn’t turn from his view of the great outdoors as he counted to three before saying, “I see you are feeling better today, young Master Damian.  If you are getting around on your own this well, I see that you are ready to assist me today.”

Damian stood in the doorway to the kitchen, jaw slightly agape that the old butler had known he was there.  Damian hadn’t even entered the kitchen before Alfred began talking to him.  Shaking himself as he took a seat at the counter, Damian said, “I will never understand how you are able to know everything that is going on in this house, Pennyworth.”

Alfred turned to the youth with a mystic smile and said, “Many years of practice, young sir.  Although, I will say that you are far harder to detect, _sometimes,_ than your brothers were.”

Damian smirked at Alfred, realizing that this relationship must be what a normal grandfather/grandson relationship felt like, and said, “That sounds like a challenge, Pennyworth.”

“Take it however you will, Master Damian.  You are up early today.  Big plans?”

Damian shook his head and said, “No.  I just wanted to be done before Father and Grayson get ready for work.”

Alfred was surprised by the admission.  “Are you planning on speaking with them today?  I’m not sure if they will be in any condition to go to the office, but they will be more than happy to speak to you.  I daresay they have been anticipating this day all week.”

Damian felt a bit guilty as he stared down at the countertop.  “No, Pennyworth.  I want nothing to do with them.  They…I…I’m scared.”

Alfred’s jaw sagged for just a second before he said, “Scared of what, young sir?  This is your father and brother we are talking about, not the Joker and the Riddler.”

“It’s just…The things I see them doing.  I don’t want to be scared of them, but I can’t help it.”

A new voice spoke softly from the doorway.  “What sort of things are you seeing them doing?  Are you having nightmares?”

Damian gasped and jumped from his stool as he turned at the sound of Tim’s voice.  “Drake, what the hell!”  Damian turned to Alfred and said sarcastically, “Did you sense him coming, too?”

Alfred held back his smirk as he said, “No, but I did see him enter the room.”

Tim walked in and sat next to Damian, who retook his seat a bit shakily.  “You didn’t answer my question, Damian.  Are you having nightmares?”

Damian stared back at the countertop as he said bitterly, “Yes, but you knew that already.”

“I did,” Tim admitted, “It’s hard not to know, when you start screaming in your sleep.”

Damian looked up, ashamed, “I do?”

“Yes, you do.  If you didn’t lock your door at night, the three of us could try to help you, instead of just standing there helpless.”

Damian swallowed heavily, “Father knows,” he whispered.

Tim nodded, “And Dick.  How much of it they remember, though, is anybody’s guess.  With as drunk as they are getting every night, it’s a surprise that they remember their names in the morning.”

Damian sniffed mightily, whether from a runny nose or emotions was anyone’s guess.  “…That’s my fault, isn’t it?  They’re drinking because of me.”

Tim sighed, wondering how to tell Damian that he was right without hurting him.  “They’re drinking because they see you hurting, and they aren’t being allowed to help you.  That’s all they want, is to make sure you are doing okay.”

Damian looked up, pain lining his face.  “Can’t you just tell them?  I’m okay. They don’t need to destroy themselves like that.”

Tim threw an arm around Damian’s shoulders and said, “Damian, if it were that easy, we wouldn’t be having this problem.  I can tell them until I’m blue in the face that you’re alright, but as long as you are screaming in the night, and they’re too drunk to remember how to pick the lock, or remember that Bruce has a key, they won’t believe it.”

“He doesn’t.”

Tim looked strangely at Damian, “Doesn’t what?”

“He doesn’t have a key, not anymore.  I…kinda…snuck into his room the other night and took it off his keyring.”

Alfred approached the counter, whisking the eggs for his charge’s breakfasts.  “That explains why he stands outside your room at night, instead of entering, then.”

Damian nodded silently.  Alfred turned to the stove while Tim and Damian thought silently for several minutes.

Finally, Tim asked, “What are you dreaming about, Damian?  Maybe I can help, if you tell me.”

Damian shrugged, not looking up.  “I guess.  I mean, I should tell someone, and you’re the person it’s least likely to hurt.  It starts out the same every night.  I’m lying in bed, and my door opens.  Standing there is Father, just outside of my room.  He holds out his arms to me, beckoning me to him.  I stand and look at him, and I don’t feel the fear anymore.  I’m not scared.  I run to him, and he picks me up and holds me tight.  It feels like nothing in the world will ever hurt me again, so long as he has me in his arms.  Neither of us say anything, it’s just…nice.  I guess I fall asleep in his arms, or something, because I always wake up at that point.”

Tim smiled at the recollection.  “That sounds nice, Damian.  Why does that make you scream, though?”

“It doesn’t,” Damian said, “I’m sad when I wake up, because that‘s what I want, and I had it, even if it was only a dream.  I try to go back to sleep, try to get back to that point of…security.  But when I fall asleep again, the dream is different.  I’m still in bed, and the door opens.  This time I want Father to come in, to come to me.  I remember that, when he stands in the hall, he’s smiling, like he wants nothing more than to come and comfort me.  He takes a step forward, and there is a shadow between the hallway and my room.  I guess he’s passing through the doorframe, or something.  When he comes out of the shadow, he’s dressed as Batman.  I’m always confused at the transformation.  I want Father, but I get Batman, and the fear hits me, a second before Batman does.  Every night, he gives me that look I told you about, and I can’t move.  I can’t run.  I can’t get away.  He takes his time getting to my bed.  I want to run, scream, cry out, anything that will get him to leave me alone, but I just lay there.  I can’t move.  It’s like that look pins me to the bed.  Then, our fight replays, except every punch and kick that I blocked or dodged when it really happened connects.  He beats me, hard.  I…I wake up, sweating and crying.  I don’t want that, Drake, but I can’t bring myself to confront Father.  How do I know he’s not going to start hitting me again?”

Tim was shocked at the dreams his brother had been living with for the past week.  “Why didn’t you say anything before?  That’s a terrible dream.  I can understand why you’re scared, but it’s no reason not to talk to him.  Bruce can help you, Damian.  He’s good with scary dreams.  I guarantee, he will be so glad to see you, that the only thing he will want to do is hug you.”

Damian thought for a second, “That would be nice, but…I just can’t.  Not…not yet.”

“Perhaps when Master Bruce comes down for breakfast, the two of you can have a little talk.  We will give you all the room you need, or be right there with you, for support,” Alfred said, hoping that Damian was getting close to a breakthrough.

“Why can’t you, Damian?” Tim asked gently.

“I told you, I’m scared.  I don’t want him to hit me again.”

Tim patted Damian’s shoulder.  “I get that, Damian, I really do.  Do you remember when I talked to you about strength coming from knowing our fears?” The boy nodded as Tim continued, “Well, there is a second part to that.  The origin of strength is knowing our fears.  Knowing our fears and continuing to do a thing anyway, even though it scares us, that’s the beginning of bravery.  To carry on when we are shaking in our boots and staining our underwear is not only a sign of maturity and bravery, but it is a signal that we control ourselves.  We don’t let our fears control us, we master them.”

“Tt.  That’s easy to say from the sidelines, Drake.  It’s another thing when it’s staring you right in the face.”

“I know, Damian, but remember, you don’t have to face it alone, if you don’t want to.”

Damian mumbled, “What if I just don’t want to face it?”

Alfred set steaming plates before the boys and said, “We are here for you, young sir.  When Master Bruce comes down for breakfast in a few minutes, you should talk to him.  We won’t leave you alone, if you don’t want.”

Damian paled at the prospect of confronting his father.  He began shoveling food into his mouth at an accelerated rate.  As much as he wanted to not have that confrontation, he could recognize his need for food.  He still felt a bit malnourished from his time undercover, and felt that a full stomach could only help him in his quest for safety and solitude.  He glanced back at the open doorway every few seconds, wondering each time he looked back if that would be the time his father or brother appeared in the doorway.

Tim spoke to Alfred as he saw Damian systematically clear his plate in under two minutes.  “I don’t think you should be expecting them down anytime soon, Alfred.  It was like puke in stereo walking down the hall.  I’m sure that they are keeping it to their bathrooms, but assuming their stomachs are still in their bodies after the sounds I heard, I would hope that they both just went back to bed.  I’ll call them out again before I leave for the office, Alfred.  I think a nasty flu diagnosis is in their future.  That should cover them being out for multiple days without drawing too much suspicion.  I’ll just say I’ve been staying at my apartment while they’re sick, so no one asks why I haven’t caught it.”

Alfred turned back from the plates he was preparing and said, “That would be most appreciated, Master Timothy.  Now…where did he go?”

Tim looked to his side and saw nothing but an empty plate in front of an empty stool.

_Later that afternoon…_

Damian sat at his desk, absently doodling as he thought on his predicament.  _How do I get over this?  There has to be a way that doesn’t involve making me feel like…this.  I would bet I feel just as bad as Father and Grayson do right now.  Well, maybe not_ that _bad, but still bad.  There are two things I need to plan.  One, how to end this nightmare, and the nightly nightmares.  Two, is there any safer place in the house than this room?  I could use the cave.  I don’t think Father or Grayson have been patrolling in their inebriated state.  I hope they haven’t.  To lose them to a drunken fall would be worse than what’s happening now.  The cave is too cold and damp right now.  This is a big house, there has to be plenty of places no one uses.  How can I appropriate one of them without anyone finding out?  Do I really want to be down some dark, forgotten corridor without at least Pennyworth knowing?  Would Father be able to force my location out of him?_

_Grayson would know.  I’ve spent a lot of time exploring this house, but he could draw a map of it blindfolded.  Besides, I don’t think I’ve been anywhere that he hasn’t told me about.  I need to start thinking of obscure places.  There are any number of closets and storage spaces, but I need to think about minimum standards.  It needs to be somewhere I can spend an extended period without being cramped.  I need to be able to spend the night, if necessary.  I need to have access to electricity and heating.  And plumbing.  I can’t just sleep in one of the cars, that would only meet two of the three requirements, and it wouldn’t be too warm.  I would have to keep the car running to get heat.  That would be a pretty dead giveaway.  Wait a minute.  Remember last summer, and the scavenger hunt I sent Grayson and Drake on?  Yeah, that could work.  Only, how do I make it livable?  That’s going to take a lot of work.  It will all have to be done at night, if Father and Grayson are going to be home from work, and I have to be absolutely silent._

Outside his closed door, Damian heard voices drifting through the closed wood panel.

“Bruce, are you feeling okay?  Where are you going?” He heard Tim’s voice softly through the closed portal.

“I’m fine, Tim.  I need to see my son.  I can’t stand this anymore.” A voice responded.  It was muffled by the wood and slurred by the alcohol still coursing through the man’s system, but it was unmistakably his father speaking.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, Bruce.  Can I talk to you first, before you do anything?” Tim was saying.  “I spoke with him this morning.  I think I can help you, Bruce.”

_Oh, god.  Drake is going to tell him everything._ Strangely, Damian found he was okay with that.   _At least it might break through to Father, and get him to change his approach._

“Not right now, Tim.  You can tell me later.  Right now, I just need to see him.”  Bruce sounded desperate as the voice grew louder, the man getting closer to the door.

Damian found himself shaking at the prospect of seeing Bruce.  His head whipped around the room, as he realized that there was no way out other than the door, which his father was now on the other side of, or jumping out the window into the sub-freezing Gotham afternoon.

“Hey, get out of the way, Timmy.  We need to see Damian.” Dick’s equally slurred voice sounded.  Obviously, he was standing right next to Bruce, as Tim tried to get the drunken men to listen.

There was a heavy thump outside the door, followed by Dick’s voice saying, “ _hic…_ Sorry, Timmy.  Didn’t mean to push you so hard, but you’re in the way.”

Bruce all but fell through the door as it opened unexpectedly.  For as much alcohol as the man had consumed over the past week, he was aware enough to remember that this particular door had been locked every time he had approached it over the last eight days.  He had managed to lose the key somewhere, but that didn’t stop him from trying the handle anyway.  This time, it was unlocked.

Bruce and Dick looked around the room, but saw no one.  Tim was rubbing the side of his face from the floor, where he landed after Dick shoved him roughly to the ground.  Tim decided not to hold it against his older brother, as the man would probably not remember it later, and Tim didn’t want to give him another reason to cry later.

“Where is he?” Bruce slurred out.

“The last time I… _hic…_ saw him, he was hiding in the bathroom.  Maybe he’s still there?”

Bruce swayed ominously as he turned to Dick.  He spoke to the one he felt most likely to be the actual version of his eldest that he saw in his double vision and said, “That was almost a week ago.  He had to come out for food sometime.  Alfred is willing to serve people breakfast in bed, but I’m sure he draws the line at food in the bathroom.”

Dick staggered over to the door and said blearily, “Well, I’m checking it anyway.  Maybe there’s a clue in here, O great detective.”  Dick opened the door, promptly losing his balance as the door swung inwards.  He nearly went face-first into the tile floor before he caught himself on the counter.  He turned his head left and right a little too fast, and had to lean on the edge of the counter to steady his swirling vision and control his nausea.”

“Well?  Is he… _hic…_ in there?”

Dick had placed his hands on the sides of his head, hoping it would steady his vision.  “Um, I don’t think so, unless he’s in the clothes hamper.”  Dick staggered out of Bruce’s sight for a second, before popping his head back into view, “Nope, not in there, either.”

“How about clues?  Any of those in there, O Boy Wonder?”

Dick stood at the best approximation of attention he could muster and slapped his forehead painfully with a salute.  “No clues, Shaggy.  What’s next?  Do we call the Commissioner and ask him to put up the Robin signal, and see if he shows up?”

Bruce stumbled to the bathroom door and said, “That might be a good idea, but we don’t…we don’t…we don’t _have_ a Robin signal.”

Dick’s lower lip began trembling as he wiped at his eye.  “That’s so sad, Bruce.  How can we not have a Robin signal?  How are we ever supposed to find a Robin without a Robin signal?”

“I’ll have Alfred order one right away.  But, then, how is he going to get it on top of the police building?  And, how is Damian going to see it, if he isn’t in his Robin costume.  Tell you what, you think about that for a while, while I go and check the closet.”

Damian rolled his eyes at the inane conversation of the two drunks in his bedroom.  He knew the closet would only hide him for a short period, but he had hoped it would be long enough for Drake to find a way of getting the men out of his room.  If the overheard thump was actually Drake hitting the floor, then Damian figured he shouldn’t expect any help from his brother at this time.  As such, he had prepared himself.

The door to the walk-in closet swung open, the light dazzling the boy for a second before he was able to focus on his father.  He was stunned, to say the least.  Bruce had come home from apprehending supervillains in better shape than he looked at the moment.  Bruce’s skin was sallow and his eyes were sunken into his face.  His hair was sticking out every which way, and his clothes were rumpled and wrinkled.  Damian didn’t want to venture a guess on how long the man had been wearing the same clothes.

It took Bruce a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkened space.  Once they did, a look of pure joy spread across his face only to be quickly squashed.  In the back of the closet sat Damian, his back to the wall; a pile of bags, suitcases, blankets, and clothes were piled up in front of him.  The only parts of the child that were visible were his hair, his wary, blue eyes, and his right arm.  Only the right arm held Bruce’s attention.

“Hey, Dickie, I found him!  Da-Da-Damian, is that really necessary?”  Bruce was vaguely gesturing to the foot-long, razor sharp Ka-Bar held in Damian’s right hand, its anodized black blade only visible from the glint off the very edge.  Dick looked in the closet and gasped at the blade.

“That’s up to you, Father.  I don’t want to use it, but I will, if I have to.”  Damian spoke calmly and quietly, but there was a slight quake to his voice.

“I don’t want you to use it either, son.  Damian, what can I do?” Bruce took a step into the closet, but stopped as Damian thrust his arm out, pointing the knife straight at Bruce.

“You can stay right there, Father.  I’m not kidding when I say I’ll use this.”

Bruce stepped back out of the closet, his mind clearing a bit.  “Can I at least turn on the light?  I want to see more of you than just your eyes and your… _hic…_ knife.”

Damian thought for a second before shrugging.  “I suppose.  I mean, you’re going to do what you want in your house, whether I say yes or no.”

Bruce turned on the light, causing both standing men to groan as the illumination dug painfully into their eyes.  After a minute of pain, Bruce asked, “What do you mean by that, son?”

“I mean, that it’s obvious that I can’t stop you when you want to do something.  You already barged into my room uninvited, now you have me cornered.  What do you want from me, Father?”

Dick swayed into Bruce before saying, “Don’t say that, brother.  We’re not trying to do anything to you.”

“This time.  Is Drake okay, Grayson, or is he another one of your victims?”

“Timmy?  Why wouldn’t he be okay?”

_He doesn’t even remember knocking Drake over?  They are drunker than I thought._   He turned his attention back to Bruce while Dick looked deep in thought, trying to find out what Damian meant by his comment.  “Whatever.  You told Drake that you wanted to see me.  Well, you’ve seen me.  Is there anything else?  If not, feel free to close the door on your way out.”

Bruce looked close to tears as he opened and closed his mouth several times before being able to speak.  “Son, we just need to make sure you’re okay.  You’ve been shutting us out for long enough, it’s time we get past this.”

“Get past this?  How?  Oh, let me guess, you want to take the Grayson philosophy.  Everything will be fixed if we just hug and sweep everything under the rug.  I’m sorry, Father, it’s going to take more than that.”

Bruce leaned against the door frame, his head pounding.  “What do you want, Damian?”

Damian shook his head sadly.  He said quietly, “You really think that’s the answer, don’t you?  Money?  You just want to buy your way out of this?  How typical.  You can’t buy your way out of this, because what I want doesn’t cost anything, except maybe a little time and honesty on your part.”

“Okay, Damian,” Bruce said, “I’m willing to go along with that.  Talk to me, tell me what to do.  I want us to get past this.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.  Not like this.” Damian stood slowly, knife still held at the ready.  “You are drunk, Father.  I can smell the alcohol from here.  There is a good chance that you won’t remember this conversation later.  If this is going to happen, I’m only going to do it once.  I want to make sure you know, and understand, everything that happens.  Also, there is one simple thing that you haven’t even thought of doing that would make this so much easier for all of us.  You don’t even realize that you haven’t done it.  If what Drake tells me is the truth, you have tried it with everyone else, but not with me.”

Bruce slipped off the door frame and landed hard on his knees in front of his son.  Looking up with bleary eyes, Bruce pleaded, “Anything, son.  I will do anything for you.”

Damian considered Bruce’s proposal.  “Fine.  Tell me why this had to happen.”

Bruce was confused about what Damian meant.  He decided to start with the most recent events.  “Dick and I had to see you.  We had to make sure you were okay.  Sure, Alfred and Leslie and Tim told us that you were recovering, but we wanted to see for ourselves.  I’m sorry we busted into your room without knocking.”

Damian shot an incredulous look at his father.  “Are you kidding me?  Is that all you feel you have to apologize for?  I’m standing in front of you with a broken arm and the aftereffects of a concussion, not to mention having lost so much weight that Pennyworth had to buy me a smaller belt just to hold my pants up, and all you can come up with is walking into my room uninvited?  Get out of here, both of you.  We’re not going to accomplish anything while you’re drunk.”

Dick spoke up for the first time in a while.  “Is this still about the fight, Damian?”

“What else is it going to be about?” Damian yelled at his older brother.  “How could you not realize it was me?  I tried to give you hints.  I tried everything short of pulling my helmet off, and you two just…just…”

Damian broke off as he started gasping for air.  The memories of the fight, combined with this confrontation, which had been too long in the making, were making it hard for the boy to catch his breath.  He sagged back against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps.  Bruce was on his feet in an instant and moving towards his child, concern breaking through his intoxication.

Damian’s head snapped up as he heard his father approaching.  The knife was brandished again, and Bruce stopped with the point mere centimeters from his chest.  “Don’t touch me,” Damian gasped out.

“Damian…”

The boy interrupted, “Don’t ‘Damian’ me.  I don’t want to hear it.  Get back.”

Bruce took a reluctant step back, then another as Damian waved the knife at him.  When we was no longer feeling so boxed in, the child spoke.  “Grayson, Drake told you about our conversation the night I woke up.  He told you too, Father, although I doubt you remember.  You two know why I couldn’t break cover, and what I tried to do.  You have explained what you two were trying to do that night to everyone who would listen, except me.  You two have pleaded your case and sought forgiveness from everyone, except me.  I can understand the lack so far, since I haven’t let you two get this close since the night you beat me.  However, in all that time, in all those explanations and excuses, you two have never admitted the one thing that I want to… _need_ to hear.  You have never admitted that what you did was wrong.  You have never admitted that you made a mistake that night, and it could have cost me my life.  You have never tried to apologize for putting me through hell.  You sent me back there, knowing that my life was in danger, knowing that I had requested a plan for extraction, knowing everything you needed to know to make your move against Two Face.  What was left to accomplish in that mission?  What did I not do for you?  I laid it all out, I almost had to sacrifice everything, so you could wait another week, just to be sure.  Sure of what?  Why didn’t you move after you paid the ransom for Drake?  You knew everything then.  I followed the plan, I expected you to as well.  It was _your_ plan, Father.  What did I do wrong, Father?  Why was I left there?”

Bruce was at a loss.  His head was pounding with the beginnings of a monster hangover.  “Damian, I didn’t think we had enough to get charges to stick.  We had a lot, but there was more that we didn’t know.  I never meant for any of this to happen to you; it wasn’t part of the plan.  I thought we needed more.”

“What more was there to know,” Damian asked bitterly.  “You had exactly the same amount of information the day you ransomed Drake as you did the day you took down the school.  Why did that day have to be two weeks later?”

There was no answer that Bruce could come up with that he thought would make a difference in his son’s tone, so he just shook his head sadly.  Dick was leaning against the wall heavily, his tears matching the ones standing out in Damian’s hurt, betrayed eyes.

Damian shook his head, “You can’t say it, can you?  Its six simple words, and they would help so much, but you can’t even bring yourself to say them without me prompting you.  ‘I’m sorry Damian, I was wrong’.  But no, the great Bruce Wayne is never wrong, and Batman never apologizes.  As you can see, this little meeting has accomplished nothing.  Go away.  Maybe you should try coming back when you have some answers, instead of just a bunch of empty questions.”

Damian sat back behind his makeshift barricade, eyes never leaving his elders.  Bruce met his eyes for several minutes, but saw nothing but a brick wall behind them.  Slowly, sadly, he hung his head and turned to exit the closet.  He grabbed Dick’s arm and pulled him towards the door.

Before leaving the room, Bruce turned back to the closet.  He could just barely make out his son’s head as he said softly, “I’m sorry, Damian.  I never meant to hurt you.”  No response met his apology, and Bruce gently shut the bedroom door as he made his way out.

Damian dropped the knife as he sagged onto his mound of clothing.  _Why did I do that?  I wanted nothing more than for him to come and try to make amends, why did I push him away?  He still couldn’t admit he was wrong, even though he did apologize.  I think he had his first sober thought in a long time when he apologized, too.  Do I really need to hear all that to make up with them?  I want this to be over.  Am I the coward?  Am I the one who needs to be brave, like Drake was telling me this morning?  I don’t know if I can do that just yet.  I want to.  I want it more than anything, but seeing them…it was harder than I thought it would be.  The fear is still there.  To realize your fear and continue anyway, that’s what Drake said was the beginning of bravery.  I guess I’m not as brave as I thought.  There’s a sobering thought.  Let’s stick with my first plan, at least until I can get a little braver._

Outside of the room, Bruce was supporting Dick’s weight.  Tim came out of his room, a bruise forming on his cheek from where the drunk Dick had elbowed him out of the way.  Tim stopped short at the sight of the men.  “I told you to wait until I could explain a few things.  I take it that didn’t go as planned?”

Bruce sighed heavily, breathing whiskey on his third son, “In all, it could have gone much better.  These aren’t tears of joy, you know.  How did we mess up so bad, Tim?”

Tim folded his arms across his chest.  “You don’t need me to answer that for you, Bruce.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”  Bruce seemed to see the teen for the first time as he looked up, and his eyes narrowed as his drunk mind tried to concentrate.  “What happened to your face, Tim?”

Tim shook his head slowly.  “The sad thing is, you really don’t remember, do you?”

Bruce gasped, “Oh, god, we hurt you, too.”

Tim rolled his eyes as he walked away.  Bruce turned to look at Dick and said, “Well, our brilliant plan backfired.  What do we do now?”

“The only thing we can do, Bruce,” Dick said.  “There are whole rooms of old bottles downstairs that we haven’t drunk yet.  Let’s find one and introduce ourselves.”

Bruce shrugged as they headed for the stairs, “That’s better than any plan I’ve come up with recently.  Let’s do it.”

After a mercifully silent, and parent and eldest brother free, dinner, Damian helped Alfred clear the table.  He wanted to ask about possible locations to relocate within the manor, but also wanted to make sure someone would know where he was.

“Master Damian, you didn’t need to assist me.  I could have managed your and Master Timothy’s plates.  Tell me, was the turkey still good?”

Damian looked a bit confused, “Yes, it was fine.”

“Not too dry?  Turkey is one of the easiest foods to dry out while cooking.”

Damian smiled softly, “It was just fine, Pennyworth.  Why do you ask?  Oh, was this leftovers from Thanksgiving?”

Alfred returned the boy’s smile.  “Yes, I found them in the freezer this morning.  Since you and Master Timothy missed our Thanksgiving dinner here this year, I thought it appropriate to hold the leftovers until your return.  It seemed appropriate tonight, since your father and Master Dick seem to be having something similar for their chosen dinner, Wild Turkey.”

Damian was about to make a confused comment, until he remembered seeing the bottle of liquor in his father’s office several months ago.  Instead, he gave the butler a shrewd look.  “I’m impressed, Pennyworth.  You are able to make a pun about your employer’s alcoholism, while at the same time making me feel guilty about it.  Never the less, I refuse to allow them to attempt a reconciliation again until they sober up.”

Alfred met the shrewd look with his own and said, “I agree, they do need to stop drinking, but if I may, who are you trying to punish here?  Surely you realize that they would have no reason to drink if you were not holding the guilt trip over their heads.”

Damian broke the locked gaze first.  “I admit, I screwed up today.  I had a chance to fix everything, and I ended up making it worse.  The thing is, the sound of their voices frightens me.  Hearing someone walking down the hall from my room causes me to start shaking.  Seeing them…I just want to hide.  I don’t know what they’re going to do.  I should, but I don’t.”

Damian closed his eyes against the heat rising behind them.  “Deep down, I know that the last thing Father and Grayson want to do is hurt me.  But they did, and they still can’t admit that what they did was wrong.  I gave them every chance today.  I even told them straight out, that if they said it, even if they didn’t mean it, it would mean something to me.  They still couldn’t say it.  I know I’m hurting them by holding the fact that the hurt me against them, but I’m not ready.  I’m not ready to confront all of this.  I’m not ready to…to forgive them…yet.  It’s all still too fresh.  I love them, Pennyworth, but I can’t go on like nothing happened.  You didn’t hear me say that, by the way.”

Alfred surprised Damian by pulling the boy into a tight, if short, hug.  Looking up, Damian found a wise, gentle smile shining down on him.  “If that’s the case, then may I suggest something to take your mind off of your predicament, for a while?  You are recovered enough to start being a little more active around the house.  I could use your assistance with a project that is several years in the making.”

“Several years?  What is it, Pennyworth?” Damian was genuinely interested in what could have been left for so long undone under the butler’s gaze, so much so that he forgot the reason he initially came to talk to the old man.

Alfred, however, knew exactly what Damian was looking for.  “Yes, young sir.  It is long past time that this house had a thorough cleaning from top to bottom.  Now, I don’t expect you to do all of it.  In fact, I would only ask you to assist in a small portion of it.  As you are well aware, I have exacting standards when it comes to the cleanliness of the common areas of the manor.  The living areas have a little more lax standard, since those spaces are expected to be lived in.  However, one section of the house has gone far too long without even the slightest hint of effort being put into it.  I wouldn’t expect it to be returned to a level of, say…the ballroom on the day of a gala.  I would expect it to be…livable, though.”

Damian suddenly realized that Alfred was reading his mind again, and offering him a place to clear his mind and overcome his block where his family was concerned.  A small hint of joy worked its way across his face, before disappearing behind a slightly interested expression.  “Where exactly is this neglected area, Pennyworth?”

“The third floor, above the residence wing.  I would only expect the basics of cleanliness in an area that sees such sparse use.  The floors would need to be swept and mopped; furniture would need to be dusted and cleaned; fireplaces would need to be cleaned out.  Perhaps, if you found the time, the restrooms could be polished and inspected against any leaks in the plumbing.  It might be nice to clean a layer of the grime off the windows, as well.”

Damian returned to the shrewd look he was carrying before.  “Let’s say I was interested in helping you with this project.  What would be a reasonable time frame for completion?”

Alfred was beaming internally.  _Got you, young sir._   “Oh, I would leave that entirely up to you.  You are still recovering from your injuries, and I wouldn’t dream of pushing you beyond your limits for something like this.  In fact, I would think that, even if you could complete, say…the hallway and maybe one or two rooms…that would be a huge help in my efforts to clean this house.”

Damian tapped his chin, as if he were thinking, even though he suspected that Alfred knew just how much he wanted to jump at the offer.  “This sounds like quite a labor intensive project, Pennyworth.  I would need to spend a lot of time, it sounds like, to even make a dent in what must be decades of dirt up there.  May need to spend a couple nights up there, just to make sure everything is going to be up to standards.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t recommend spending nights up there.  Not, at least, until we can make sure that there is adequate weatherproofing and heating arrangements.  If you are interested, that is.”

Damian gave a mock sigh, like he was sacrificing greatly to help the butler.  “Very well, Pennyworth.  If my helping out on the upper floor of the house gives you more time to make sure everything down here is presentable, then I suppose I can give it a try.  Um…do we have cleaning supplies in the house anywhere?”

Alfred couldn’t help but chuckle at the question.  “Of course, young sir.  I believe you are familiar with the second floor supply closet?  You are welcome to anything in there that you believe may assist you in your task, so long as you return everything to where you found it when you are done using it.  I still need to clean the second floor, you know.”

Damian nodded, “Yes, of course.  Well, I guess I should at least go and look at what I’ve gotten myself into.  Um…good night, Pennyworth, I guess.”

Alfred smiled at the boy, “Good night, Master Damian, and thank you.  Any assistance in this cleaning project will be greatly appreciated.”

Damian turned to walk away, but Alfred called out, “Oh, and Master Damian, be sure to prop the door open at the top of the stairs.  It has a tendency to close on its own.  It’s very easy to get turned around up there.  If you need anything, there is an old phone in the drawing room.  That is the old butler line, the predecessor to the current intercom system in the house.  I assure you, it still works.”

Damian smirked and nodded as he walked out of the kitchen.  He could hear Alfred chuckle at the unsaid thought that was running through his head.  _The old butler line.  Obviously used to call the old butler.  Thank you, Pennyworth.  You have given me everything I need to hopefully work this issue out.  I see why Father keeps you around.  Why you choose to stay with him, I may never figure out._

As Bruce and Dick opened their fourth bottle of Wild Turkey of the night, Damian found himself tiptoeing up the stairs.  Bypassing his room, he made his way to the end of the hall.  There, he made a quick survey of the supply closet, just to make sure everything he would need was there.  Seeing everything was in order, he turned to the last door on his right.  Reaching out with a quivering hand, Damian slowly opened the door, revealing the worn, spiral staircase, leading up to the third floor.  Damian had only been up there once, but that short memory was enough to let him know that everything he needed was lying before him.

 

**A/N:  Okay, we are coming into the home stretch.  My last outline for this story had it playing out over 20 chapters, and so far that is still looking like the case.  There are still a couple twists coming up that will change the dynamic of not only this story, but several planned, upcoming stories.  One of which has already been added to the timeline, and is currently in the process of being written.  I won’t post that until after this is done, because there would be too many spoilers for the end of this one, and I don’t want to do that.  Suffice it to say, a very specific group of fans are going to be quite shocked with how I choose to end this story, but nothing more until we get there.**

**By the way, for those not familiar with it, Ka-Bar is the name of a manufacturer of high grade military fighting knives.  Cross a Bowie knife with a bayonet, and you have the basic Ka-Bar, which is what Damian was using to hold Bruce at bay.**


	17. 17

School of Wrong

Chapter 17

 

Damian laid back and thought about his last few days.  After talking with Pennyworth, Damian had checked out the third floor.  Climbing the stairs slowly, he made his way to the unused space and had a look around.  It was far dirtier than he remembered it being during the summer, his only time entering the space.  He found that he felt a bit claustrophobic with the lower ceiling height, but there were many spaces to make his own up here.

Damian had made a quick lap of the floor, taking in the various rooms and their potential use to him, before returning to his room for the night.  Damian had locked his door and gone to his desk, where he pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a pencil.  He sketched out the floor above his head from memory and plotted his attack on his cleaning project.

He started before dawn the next day, grabbing a handful of brooms and mops before retreating to the third floor.  The first day was spent focusing on the floors.  It took four hours to just sweep and mop the hallway, to the point where every step no longer sent up a cloud of choking dust.  Alfred was impressed with the progress made in just one morning when he sought out the boy to give him his latest dose of antibiotics and vitamins, and to force him to eat something.  The butler didn’t think that the boy would do nearly as much in a week.

Following the meal, which the famished child ate gratefully, Damian returned to the third floor.  The previous night, he had plotted out which rooms he was planning on using.  He was planning on focusing his time and attention on a medium-sized drawing room in the middle of the hallway.  It was far enough down the hall that his presence wouldn’t be readily noticed if anyone were to come looking for him, it was across the hall from a bathroom, and it held the aforementioned Butler Phone.  Also, the larger space seemed a bit more inviting to him than some of the bedrooms had.

Damian started on the floor of his chosen drawing room, but soon finished with that room and moved on down the hall.  Surprisingly enough, Damian found the routine soothing to his mind, and sometime later found himself back at the drawing room, having swept and mopped every space he could find on the third floor.

When Damian returned to his room, exhausted, dusty, and sore, it was past midnight.  He treated himself to a long, hot shower before padding silently down to the kitchen to see if he could find something to eat.

The next day, Damian was up before dawn again.  Despite his full day yesterday, he found that he was ready for more.  Damian spent the whole day in the drawing room, dusting, polishing, and vacuuming the furniture.  He fixed the overhead light fixture and tested the electric current in each of the outdated outlets.  He rearranged the furniture to his liking.  He washed the insides of the windows and cleaned out the fireplace, making sure the flue was in good working order.  For someone so unaccustomed to domestic labor, Damian found that he was good at it.  Best of all, the work helped clear his mind.  There were no tasks set before him that required heavy thought.  He found that it was enough to keep moving in order to keep from thinking.

However, that didn’t stop him from thinking entirely.  He spent a lot of time on the second day pondering how to end his current situation.  The most direct, and fastest way, of course, was to just approach his father and brother and give them another chance.  He was fairly certain that would work, until he heard a report from Drake that Father and Grayson were drinking harder than before, ever since their argument.  Damian knew it was no use trying to reason with men whose brains were working at half capacity, or less.

The direct way was not the easiest way, though.  It never is, he assumed.  As much as he knew who he was dealing with, he was still scared of them.  Eventually, he knew he would have to be the bigger man, bite the bullet, and extend the olive branch.  Damian just didn’t know how to do that.  Not yet.

This morning, the third day of his labors, Damian had focused on the bathroom, ensuring it was clean and usable.  The plumbing was dated, but still fully functional.  Finished with the spaces he planned on using, Damian returned to his room and collapsed on his bed, exhausted.

Now, several hours later, Damian lay back on the couch in the third floor drawing room which was to become his refuge in Stately Wayne Manor.  A small fire burned in the hearth, warming the space that had once housed the Wayne ancestors.  After three days of work, Damian still wasn’t sure why he had chosen this room over the other fifteen habitable spaces on the third floor.  This room seemed to call to him, even before he made up reasons why it was the perfect space in which to hide.  If he had really stopped to think about it, he would eventually come to the conclusion that the space was special because it held memories that had been related to him by Grayson, in happier times.  Long ago, Dick had used this room to help grow his relationship with Bruce.  Perhaps, unconsciously, he was hoping the space could do the same for him.

One of the things that Damian had not adjusted to yet was the feel of the third floor.  The entire level of the manor just felt different to him.  The lower ceiling heights caused sounds to echo differently than they did in the rest of the house.  The plumbing was far older, and made strange noises that he hadn’t accustomed himself to yet.  All of the furnishings were turn of the last century or older.  Sturdily made and of obviously high quality, it still had an unfamiliarity that his bedroom and the den lacked.  Those spaces had been instantly comfortable to him when he first came to the manor.  This space was taking a little longer to get used to than he had expected.

He had spoken to no one since he started his cleaning project, yet somehow Alfred knew when Damian was as done as he was going to get.  While Damian slept this afternoon, Alfred had filled the wood holder next to the fireplace with logs and kindling.  Several thick blankets and plush pillows had been brought up from the lower levels and left for him on the couch.  The restroom had been stocked with toiletries, and the old towels Damian had found in a linen closet had been washed and set out for use.  Intriguing to Damian, some ancient ancestor of his had a name that began with ‘D’ as well.  He was tempted to seek out some old family records to find out which ancestor had owned the towels with the monogrammed ‘DW’ on them.

The one thing that Alfred hadn’t brought up, and Damian assumed the butler would not bring up, was food.  Alfred was sending a message to the boy that, while he could have his space away from the family, if he wanted to eat, he would eat with the family.  Even though dinner tonight had been silent, awkward, and completed in record time, Damian was sure that he wouldn’t be granted a reprieve from family meals any time soon.

A hint of a noise in the hallway caused the boy’s eyes to snap open.  His shoulders started trembling as heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway.  _Oh, no.  They found me.  It sounds like only one set of footsteps, is it going to be Father or Grayson?  Why are they coming now, in the middle of the night?  Why can’t they just leave me alone, so I can figure this out?_

Somewhere deep in his mind told him that he was wrong to be afraid of his father and brother, but the primal, hurt portion of his brain overrode the rational side, and he pulled the blanket higher, ready to pull it over his head and hide.

“The third floor drawing room, huh?  Wouldn’t have been my first choice as a hiding spot.  In fact, it wasn’t.”

The voice was so unexpected that all fear was cast aside as Damian sat up in a flash.  He stared incredulously at his visitor and stumbled over his words for a second.

“Todd?  What the hell are you doing here?”

Instead of answering, Jason took a lap around the room, taking in all the details before turning back to the boy and saying, “You know, when I lived here, I used one of the bedrooms at the end of the hall up here for my hiding place.  I used to think I was so clever, that no one knew I was up here.  I’m pretty sure now that they knew.  They probably know you’re up here, too.”

“Tt.  Pennyworth gave me the idea to come up here,” Damian stared warily at his brother.  For as much as he truly thought of Jason as a brother, he was still wary of his sudden appearance tonight.

“How did you get him to do all the cleaning?  It looks great in here.”

Damian blushed a bit at the compliment of his hard work.  “He didn’t.  I did.  How did you even get in here?”

Jason smiled as he said, “This nut isn’t as tough to crack as your pop seems to think it is.  I’m surprised you haven’t found a few exits and entrances of your own yet.”

Damian thought for a second as Jason took a seat next to him.  “How did you know I was up here?”

“Replacement told me,” Jason said lightly.

Damian’s jaw dropped in shock.  “You spoke to Drake?  And he’s still alive?”

“Is that concern for your brother I hear in your voice?” Jason teased the child.  When Damian blushed at the comment, Jason continued.  “What can I say?  He’s starting to grow on me.  Kinda like he’s growing on you.  Kinda like _you’re_ growing on me.”

Damian was beet red as he lowered his head to stare at his lap.  He asked sheepishly, “I…I am?”

Jason nodded and said quietly, “You are.  I see a lot of myself in you.  I figure someone should warn you of the pitfalls and perils of living like I do.  Who better than someone who’s been there, right?”

Damian nodded absently, his eyes wide.  He had never thought Jason had this kind of sentiment in him.  _I knew Grayson liked him for a reason, but I always thought it was Grayson being Grayson.  Maybe he has some redeeming qualities, after all._

“Besides, there is something I need you to do for me.”

Damian was so confused in the moment that he didn’t even consider making a snide, sarcastic, or rude remark as he said, “What’s that?”

Jason threw an arm on the back of the couch, not quite around Damian’s shoulders, but close.  “I need you to make up with Bruce.  When Bruce is off, Batman is off.  Well, Bruce is so off that Batman hasn’t been seen on the streets in almost two weeks.  Usually, when that happens, Nightwing is able to pick up the slack until Bruce is able to be Batman again.  Right now, according to Burger Boy, Nightwing is just as bad off, if not worse, than Batman.  When they’re both out of commission, the slack falls to me.  Now, I can pick it up for a few days, but I can’t patrol the whole city by myself every night.  I’m exhausted, Demon, so do your big brother a favor and get them back on the rooftops, so I can have a night off every once in a while.”

Damian stared shrewdly at Jason, reading between the lines of the speech.  “You do care about him, don’t you?”

“What?”  Jason was thrown off by the change in the direction of the conversation.

“Father.  You care about him.  You aren’t just here to get a night off, you want to make sure he’s okay.  If Batman is on the streets, you know that Father is okay.  Why don’t you just talk to him?  You talking to him would help just as much as me talking to him, maybe more.  You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t care about him.”

“I’m not his son,” Jason said with a tone that almost sounded bitter to Damian.

“According to him, you are.”

Jason was moved by the acknowledgement of his status in the house, even if he chose not to accept it himself.  “Maybe legally I am, but I’m not _his.  You_ are.  You are his son.  You live here.  You have the power to get him back to where he was.”

Damian spoke softly, “…And you have the power to get him back to where he deserves to be.”

Jason met Damian’s eyes with a look of respect.  “So…you care for him, too.”

Damian flinched from the look.  He didn’t know why he felt like saying what he said next, but he said it anyway.  “Of course I care for him.  I hate what I see him becoming, but…there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Jason said quietly, “There’s everything you can do about it.  What’s stopping you?”

“I’m scared!” Damian’s voice was high and clear as he blurted out his fear.  “I’m terrified of him, and Grayson.  Every time I look at them, I don’t see _them_ anymore.  When I look at Father, I see the look Batman gave me just before he beat me unconscious.  Every time I hear Grayson’s voice, I don’t hear his words, I hear the way he laughed at me when he broke my arm.”

Jason’s arm had worked its way around Damian’s shoulders, and was pulling the boy in to lean against his side.  Without realizing what he was doing, Damian laid his head on his brother’s shoulder.  They were silent for several minutes, watching the flames in the fireplace crackle and leap before Jason said, “Well, what are you going to do?  You can’t live up here for the rest of your life.  I don’t have room at my apartment for a roommate.  I doubt you want to go live with Replacement at his apartment.”

Damian turned his head to look up at Jason’s face without lifting his head from the man’s shoulder.  “You know, the way you said that, it almost sounded like, if you had the room, you would offer me a place to stay?  At least, for a little while?”

Jason looked a bit flustered at the offer he hadn’t meant to make, but had inadvertently made anyway.  “Would you really volunteer to come live with me?”

Damian thought he heard a bit of hope in Jason’s question.  “I don’t know.  After tonight, I think you might not be as bad as I’ve made you out to be.  It might make dealing with Father easier, too.  Of course, if you came and stayed here, it would do the same thing.”

Jason scoffed as Damian unknowingly echoed a line Dick had tried many times over the years.  “I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one, kid.”

Damian continued, suddenly very interested in the idea of having all of them under one roof.  “Pennyworth would be happy to have you back home.  Besides, think of the fun we could have with Drake.  Think of it; the two of us, under one roof.  Drake would never be able to relax again.”

Jason laughed despite himself.  “I thought you liked him now.”

“I do, but he’s still Drake.  He still gets on my nerves every now and then.”

“Sorry, I can’t do that, Demon.  It would mean I would have to deal with Bruce, and our troubles are far deeper than the troubles you and he are having.  I only have so much patience for him.”

Damian sat up and faced his brother.  “Maybe if you took it slow.  You know, call him every once in a while.  Come over for Sunday dinner.  Patrol with him every now and then.  Maybe you can, I don’t know…build up a tolerance?”

A slow smile lit Jason’s face, confusing the youth.  Jason was sure that Damian hadn’t meant to look as hopeful as he had a second ago, and he considered for the first time in a long time that coming home to the manor might not be such a bad thing, if the welcome that Damian might hold for him held true for the rest of the manor’s occupants.

“Congratulations, Damian,” Jason said, using the boy’s proper name for the first time that Damian could remember, “You just answered your own question.”

Damian’s eyes popped as he realized that Jason spoke the truth.  He was at a loss for words.  _It’s so simple.  Why didn’t I think of it before?  Maybe it just takes a simple mind, like Todd’s, to come up with a simple answer.  No, that’s not fair.  I really don’t give him enough credit.  Now I really hope he does move in; it would be nice to know how he is able to hide his intelligence so capably._

Jason squeezed Damian’s shoulder as he got up and walked towards the door.  He stopped as Damian called out to him.  “Yeah?”

“If you’re really quiet and sneaky, I’m sure Pennyworth left a plate of butterscotch cookies in my room.  He told me you like them, too.”

Jason laughed, throwing his head back in mirth.  “What is this?  I come and try to do a good deed, and you reward me with a cookie?”

Damian turned to the man with a smirk and said, “It works with Titus.”

“Go to sleep, Demon Child, you’ve got a lot to think about.”  The name was said with true affection, something Damian thought he would never hear from the man, so the implication didn’t sting like it did when others said it.

Damian laid back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.  A minute later, a smile broke out across his face as he heard the squeak of the hinges on the door to the stairs as it was opened, and the unmistakable sound of boots on metal risers.  Feeling better than he had in a long time, Damian pulled his blanket up to his chin and fell asleep.

Walking again through the second story of the manor, Jason was tempted to head for his old room.  Instead, he looked to the opposite side of the hall, and was surprised to see light coming from underneath Damian’s door.  Opening the portal as stealthily as he could manage, he stuck his head in to see if the room was occupied.

“You know, Jason, I always thought you were nuts for liking these.  I mean, the combination of butterscotch and Alfred’s cookies always sounded terrible to me.  I can’t stand those butterscotch candies, and I thought the cookies were made with them.  I didn’t know they made butterscotch chips like chocolate chips.  These things are amazing.”

Jason walked into the room to find Tim sitting on Damian’s bed with the promised plate of cookies.  The older man stalked up to the teen and snatched the last two cookies off the plate.  “What do you think you’re doing, eating my cookies?”

Tim smiled, “I’m not.  I’m eating Damian’s cookies.  I doubt he’ll be coming down for them tonight.”

“No, he won’t,” Jason grumbled as he took a bite of the first cookie.  “He was the one who informed me that they would be here, though.”

Alfred came into the room with a second plate in his hand.  “Ah, I see that I was right to assume that a second helping would be welcomed this evening.  Good evening, Master Jason.”

“Hey, Alfred,” the man said with a smile as he took a still-warm cookie from the plate, even though he still had one in his other hand.

“Alfred,” Tim spoke up, “I want to apologize to you.  I never believed you when you said that these were good.  These are great.”

“Of course they are,” Jason said with a hint of anger in his voice, “Alfred made them, they have no choice but to be great.”

“You flatter me, young sir.  Has everything been settled?”

Jason shrugged, “Settled, I doubt it.  But, I think things may start moving in the right direction.”

“You spoke with him, then?  Was he receptive?  Did he have anything to say?” Tim asked, leaning forward.

“We talked.  Had a nice conversation.  I didn’t know he had it in him, but I guess Dick knew what he was talking about.  That boy has changed.  I kinda like it.  I like him better this way.”

“And?” Tim and Alfred asked together.

“And, I think he gave me as much to think about as I gave him.  Whatever happens now will be up to him, but I think he’s willing to do something now.  You two just have to support him.  He feels like he’s in this alone, and he’s lonely and confused.  Let him know you’re here for him.”

Alfred said in a sad tone, “Can I assume that means that you will not be here for him?”

Jason felt guilty at the butler’s tone.  “I won’t be _here_ , but if he were to need me for something, I think I could find the time to at least talk to him.  Beyond that, I really don’t think he’s going to be needing our help in taking the next steps.  Besides, someone has to look after the city.  I can do that for a little while longer.”

Tim stood and approached the previous Robin.  “Thanks, Jason.  You tried, which, honestly, is more than I thought I would be able to talk you into.  I didn’t even think you would answer your phone if you saw that it was me calling.”

Jason’s voice was mysteriously thick as he said, “Well, tonight is a night for unexpected happenings, I guess.”

“Shall I turn down your bed, Master Jason?” Alfred asked as he sensed the conversation coming to a close.

Jason definitely looked tempted, but sighed and said, “Not tonight, Alfred.  I need to get going; lots to do still tonight.” Seeing the disappointed look on the butler’s face, Jason added, “Who knows, maybe someday soon.  Just…not tonight.”

“At least let me walk you out, then.”

Jason nodded with a smile, “I think I’d like that, Alfred.  Good night, Replacement.  You have my number, if you need me to do your dirty work again.”

Tim could have sworn that Jason winked as Alfred led him out of their youngest brother’s room.

 

**A/N: To the guest reviewer who pretty much predicted this chapter, it was a good idea.  Such a good idea, in fact, that I had it myself about three months ago, when I finalized the current outline for School of Wrong.  So, I won’t thank you for the idea, but I will congratulate you on a good guess.**

**Chapters 18 and 19 are written out.  I just need to type them up and make some edits before I can post them.  Chapter 20 will be a short epilogue.  I don’t have it written yet, but I know exactly what is going to happen.  Don’t assume that, since it’s short, it’s not important to the story, and my timeline, as a whole.  I promise, it’s worth waiting for.**


	18. 18

School of Wrong

Chapter 18

_The following takes place three days after chapter 17…_

 

Close to midnight on a moonless, frigid night in Gotham City, a creaky-hinged door opened into the second floor of Stately Wayne Manor.  Damian cringed at the noise, and silently berated himself.  _For all the days I spent cleaning the third floor, and all the days since, I never bothered to take five minutes and oil the hinges on the doors?  The hinges on the doors at the top and bottom of the stairs creak.  You would think I would fix that, since the whole point is to hide, not announce my presence._

Damian glanced down the hallway, waiting for heads to start popping out of the doorways at the end of the corridor at the noise.  When nothing happened after five minutes, Damian heaved a sigh of relief and closed the door, instantly wincing as the metal-on-metal whine sounded again.  _Taking too many chances tonight, Damian.  Then again, they may not even be up here.  It’s still early in Batman time.  If they found a way to go out, they might not even be home.  More likely, though, with what Drake told me about their increased drinking, they are probably so passed out by now that the door could have fallen off its hinges and slammed to the floor and still not have woken them up._

The hallway took on an ominous tone this night.  The only light came from the far end of the hall, at the top of the stairs, making the passage seem longer.  There was no light coming in through the windows, as the day’s heavy rainclouds had only thickened as night fell.  Damian shivered sharply, both from the cold and the prospect of his current journey.

Nervously, Damian slinked down the hall.  He was happy for the lack of illumination providing plenty of shadows for him to stick to, but it also slowed his progress, as he had to watch out to not run into any obstructions as much as he had to hide behind them.  Arriving in his bedroom, Damian heaved a sigh of relief.  He made it past the easy part of the hallway, now he just had to prepare himself for the hard part; passing Father’s and Grayson’s rooms without drawing attention to himself.

Shivering again at the cold, Damian quickly changed into a pair of sweats, a thick hooded sweatshirt, and a robe.  He thought about putting his slippers on, but thought the rubber soles would make too much noise on the hardwood floors.  He opted instead for a pair of thick socks.  As he sat to pull them on, he stopped as he realized what he was holding. 

A little over a year earlier, on another dark and rainy night, Batman had brought Robin home from a patrol in bad shape.  They had been chasing a department store Santa, who had used his access to the mall to pull off a string of high-profile robberies.  The man had a storage container located next to the Gotham River, where he stored his stolen goods.  Every night, he would drop off the loot in the container, and his associates would pick up the merchandise by boat.  The new Dynamic Duo had split up for the mission.  Batman was tailing the Christmas crook while Robin was at the container, waiting for man’s escape boat.  It was obvious to Robin that the boat wasn’t coming tonight, not with the river all but iced over, but he couldn’t get in contact with Batman to inform him of that.  Instead, he had to wait for Batman to come to him.

The night was chilly and windy, and the rain was falling in sheets.  Robin, being no idiot, picked the simple padlock securing the stash, and waited inside the container, where it was dry.  That was where everything had gone wrong.  Somewhere along the criminal’s route, he spotted Batman tailing him, and turned simple surveillance into a high-speed pursuit.  Unfortunately, the man was a better Santa than he was a driver, because instead of stopping at his container by the river, he plowed his van right into the side of it.  Inside, Robin was knocked unconscious by the heavy impact, and was unaware that the giant metal box he was sitting in was sliding into the river.  The rumbling and cracking noises failed to rouse the young hero, and he couldn’t get out before the box crashed through the ice and water began pouring in.

Batman, still thinking nothing was wrong, was actually angry at Robin for not being where he was supposed to be while he bound the unconscious thief.  Finally, several minutes and two unanswered radio calls later, Batman looked to the river, where the container was sitting half-submerged.  It took him several long seconds to realize that the large, brightly colored item floating out of the opened door wasn’t some stolen toy, it was his son and partner.

Batman instantly jumped into action and ran out onto the cracking ice to get his boy.  He swept the child up and rushed him into the car.  Halfway back to the cave, Robin woke up, shivering and scared.  Batman heaved a sigh of relief that his Robin was still with him, but pushed the car even faster to get the boy home to warm him up.  Batman was so taken with caring for Robin that he didn’t even call for the police to pick up the criminal he bound and left in the rain for two full hours.

Once back in the cave, and with Alfred’s help, Bruce set about warming his son up.  A long dip in a steaming tub was able to slowly bring the boy’s internal temperature back to normal.  Much to the boy’s slight embarrassment, Bruce insisted on helping the still-shivering boy dress in the warmest clothing available before taking him upstairs.  When he came to covering the boy’s feet, Bruce pulled out a pair of his own socks.  They were thick and warm, and came up to Damian’s knees.  When Damian looked at them and pointed out that they weren’t his, Bruce had just smiled and told his son that they were his now.  No mention of the socks had been made again after they helped him stave off hypothermia, but Alfred had made sure that they ended up in Damian’s sock drawer.

Damian smiled at the memory as he pulled the socks on.  They still came up to his knees, causing a short chuckle from the boy.  He looked around his room quickly, making sure he wasn’t forgetting anything he might need.  As he looked, his hand slowly bunched around the thick comforter atop his bed.  _I really want to just stay here tonight.  This is my room, and I want to use it.  Am I ready to make that happen?  I really wish I could answer that question._

Damian rose and headed for the door, but stopped at his desk.  There, placed on top of a stack of his drawings, was a small basket overflowing with papers.  Damian had to do a double-take, as he had never seen this before.  _What is this?  How long have I really been gone, that I didn’t notice something like this?_

Damian pulled out one sheet of folded paper with a shaky hand, unsure what he would find.  Unfolding it, his breath caught in his throat.  It was a note, written in Grayson’s loopy, intricate handwriting.  He had to read it four times before he really believed what he was seeing.

_Damian-_

_I know you hate me.  I hate me, too.  I’m so sorry this happened.  I love you._

Hand shaking even more, Damian pulled out a second note and unfolded it.

_I wish you would talk to me, Little Brother.  I miss you so much.  I’m sorry._

Damian pulled out note after note, reading them quickly.

_I’m sorry, Damian.  Please find it in your heart to forgive me._

_I know I hurt you.  I know I can’t make up for that, but I love you._

_You deserve better than me, while I deserve exactly what I’m getting._

_I miss you, Damian.  I hope you are healing from the hurt I caused you._

_I love you._

_I miss you._

Sniffling, Damian piled the notes back into the basket before sitting heavily in his desk chair.  _I didn’t expect that,_ Damian thought, _how can he be that coherent when he’s been drunk for days?  There must be two notepads wasted in this basket.  I’m starting to think I’ve been hurting him just as much as he hurt me.  Does that make us even?  Is this enough to get over my...my fear?  I…I do forgive you, Grayson, but…but I’m still scared._

A more immediate concern, and the original reason for his sojourn downstairs, made itself known as his stomach growled and rumbled.  “Okay, okay.  I get it,” Damian mumbled to himself.  He rose and, taking one last, fond look back at the basket of raw emotion, he left the room.

Standing in the hallway, he looked to his left and his right.  The closed doors of his Father’s and Brother’s rooms faced him.  At any second, either door could burst open, and Damian didn’t know who would be coming from the other side.  Would it be the loving protectors he so missed, and desperately wanted back?  Would it be the drunken fools that his elders had devolved into?  Or, would it be the feared, abusive vigilantes?  Damian decided not to find out, and quickly and quietly made his way down the stairs.

Ghosting into the kitchen without a sound, Damian stopped and gaped at the strange, unexpected sight he found before him.  He expected a darkened, empty, tidy space.  Instead, the lights burned brightly, and even though there was only one other person in the kitchen, his whirl of activity was enough to fill the room.

“Good evening, Master Damian.  You’re a bit early tonight.” Alfred pulled a tray out of the oven, replacing it with another.  He addressed the boy without looking at anything but his work.

“Good evening, Pennyworth,” Damian said slowly, taking a seat at the counter.  A place setting was waiting, with a plate of gently steaming pasta that was making Damian’s mouth water.  “Are you expecting someone?”

Alfred turned around with a smile, a dusting of flour staining one cheek.  “Of course, young sir.  You have been coming down for a midnight snack every night for the past week.  It is especially chilly tonight, so I thought something warm and filling was in order.  We need to put your weight back on, you know.  Eat up.”

Not needing to be asked twice, Damian tucked into the meal.  After nearly starving to death, he thought he would never refuse food again.  Two bites in, Damian rolled his eyes with pleasure.  “Pennyworth, this is amazing.  What did you put in the sauce?”

Alfred’s smile grew.  “Ah, you like that?” Damian nodded vigorously as he shoveled more into his mouth.  “I cooked up some polish sausage with some special seasonings and some fresh, minced garlic.  If it is still this cold tomorrow, I may make that for dinner.  Would you be averse to having the same thing two days in a row?”

Swallowing his latest bite hastily, Damian said, “You could make this anytime you want, Pennyworth.  You know what this sauce would be good with?  Penne.”

Alfred looked impressed, “You know, I hadn’t thought of that.  Thank you, Master Damian.  I guess tomorrow night’s dinner will be different for you after all.  I didn’t know you were so well versed in domestic tasks.”

Damian was draining a glass of milk, now that his plate was cleaned.  “Why do you say that?”

“Well, first, you do an excellent job of cleaning the third floor.  Now, you express knowledge and heightened preferences in food.  It’s just…unexpected.”

“Just because I don’t do something, doesn’t mean I can’t do something.  My training was all-encompassing, Pennyworth.  I may have been taught ten thousand ways to kill a man, but I was also taught how to cover my tracks and blend in with a crowd.  That included food pairings and the ability to clean up in a timely and fastidious fashion.”

Alfred took the empty plate and glass to the sink as he said, “Perhaps we can compare notes sometime.  I can teach you the finer points of the kitchen, while I’m at it.”

Damian blushed a bit.  Right now, nothing sounded better in the world to him than spending time with the family confidant.  “I’d like that,” Damian said quietly, “But I do already know how to cook.  I’m not saying that I have nothing left to learn, but people never believe me when I tell them that I can cook.”

Alfred gave an appraising smirk and said, “Then, perhaps we can make believers out of them.  How would you like to try your hand at recreating the meal you just enjoyed for tomorrow night’s dinner?”

Damian opened his mouth to answer, but a muffled thump cut him off.  His head swiveled towards the door, but nothing presented itself.  “What was that, Pennyworth,” he asked in a shaky voice.

“I haven’t a clue, young sir.”

Damian looked around for a clock, “What time is it?  Are Batman and Nightwing still out patrolling?”

Alfred gave Damian a hard look, “Batman and Nightwing have not darkened the city streets in over a week, young sir.”  Alfred pulled a tray out of the oven, only to replace it with another.  “I put your father to bed over an hour ago.  Last I saw your brother, he was asleep on the couch in your father’s study.”

Damian nodded slowly as he heaved a sigh of relief.  As much as he wanted everything to be over, he was still scared.

His fear turned introspective, and he asked Alfred, “Pennyworth, do…do Father or Grayson ask about me?  Do they know where I’ve been going during the day?”

Alfred sighed and approached the seated child.  “They know you don’t leave the house, or at least you don’t leave the grounds.  They know you are avoiding them.  They aren’t happy about it, but they understand that you need your time.  They only want what is best for you, even if it isn’t them.  As for asking about you, they trust that I or Master Timothy would inform them if anything drastic were to happen.”  Seeing a hint of depression on Damian’s face at the answer, Alfred said, “They have asked about you, but the answers seemed to make them sad, so they stopped.”  Alfred returned to the oven as Damian wiped at his eyes.

Several silent minutes passed before Damian craned his neck to try to see what was happening on the other side of the kitchen.  “What are you making, Pennyworth?” the boy asked.

“Christmas cookies, young sir.  Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, after all.”

“Christmas,” Damian said with a tone of wonder.  “I forgot all about Christmas this year.  There are no decorations up.  I thought I had missed it while at the school.”

Alfred was placing the cookies into tins as he said, “The tree is up.  I assume you haven’t been in the formal living room since you’ve been home?” Damian shook his head.  “There has been very little in the way of Christmas spirit in this house this year.  I’d just as soon not celebrate this year, but tradition won out.  The only Christmas spirit that has been seen around here is the liquid kind.  Of that, there has been far too much.”

A second muffled thump sounded from the hallway, and Damian almost fell off of his stool at the noise.  Shuffling across the kitchen to stare up at the butler, Damian asked, “Why do you continue to buy them alcohol?  I would think obeying your employer’s wishes could be overlooked when he is hurting himself.  They cannot be allowed to destroy themselves anymore.”

“I have not purchased a drop of alcohol since the Winter Fundraiser.  There is, or was, a large stock of very old and very fine liquors kept in the cellar.  Much of it has been collected over the past three centuries by various ancestor of yours.  I’m afraid your father and brother have gone through quite a good deal more of it than should have been allowed in the past few weeks.”

“No more,” Damian said forcefully.  “I’m trusting you to help me with this.  They aren’t allowed to have any more alcohol until I’m old enough to legally buy it for them, is that understood?  They’re better than this.  They can’t throw themselves away over…over me.  I’m not worth it.  The city needs them too much.  I…I need them too much.”

Alfred stepped forward and placed his hands on Damian’s shoulders.  Looking the boy in the eye and speaking seriously, he said, “You know what needs to happen for that to be possible.  Are you willing to do that?”

Damian met the serious look for another handful of seconds before dropping his gaze to the tile floor.  “No, I’m not,” he mumbled, “I’m scared, Pennyworth.  I’m a coward, too scared to make this end.  Too scared to make this _right_.  I don’t want anything like what happened to happen again, but the thought of them…”  Damian trailed off for a full minute before squaring his shoulders under the butler’s gentle grip and meeting his gaze again fiercely.  “The thought of them continuing as they are is unconscionable.  My personal feelings be damned.  The thought of my Father as a drunken fool is scarier that the thought of him hitting me again.”

Alfred dropped his hands from the boy’s shoulders as Damian turned towards the door.  “Do you have a plan, then, young sir?”

Damian turned back and opened his mouth, before closing it again and wilting, looking flustered.  “No, I don’t, but I’ll figure something out.”  Damian turned again and walked away. 

Damian stopped before leaving the kitchen, with his hand on the door frame.  Alfred watched as the boy turned his head, just enough for the butler to see his mouth move as he whispered, “Will you help me, Pennyworth?”

“Just tell me what you need, Master Damian.”

A third thump sounded in the hallway, heavier than the previous two.  Alfred and Damian followed the noise this time, just to ensure no one was trying to break into the house.  It took several minutes for them to find the source of the sound, a semi-conscious Dick, lying on the stairs, looking like he thought he was still climbing them towards his bed.

Damian stopped and the quake returned to his shoulders as he stood closer to his oldest brother than he had in days.  After a minute of staring, Alfred sighed as he approached the man and said, “Well, I guess I should get him into bed, before he tries again and hurts himself.”

Alfred lifted one of Dick’s arms, remembering fondly carrying this same charge up these stairs as a boy.  He then grimaced when he realized how much heavier the dead weight of the drunk man would be this time around.

“No,” Damian whispered.

Shocked, Alfred dropped Dick’s arm and turned to his youngest charge.  “We can’t leave him there all night, Master Damian.”

Biting his lip, Damian covered the last few feet between himself and his brother and said, “I’ll take him, Pennyworth.”

“Are you sure, Master Damian?”

Damian bent down and reached out, his hands stopping an inch from his brother’s arm, looking like he was afraid to touch the man.  Alfred felt for the boy as he said, “You are still recovering from your injuries.  Perhaps I should…”

“I’m doing this, Pennyworth,” Damian interrupted.  “I need to do this.”

Damian grabbed Dick’s arm gingerly, half expecting the man to spring up and attack him again.  When nothing happened, Damian sighed in relief and pulled the arm across his shoulder.

“Can you help me stand him up?” Damian asked.

Instantly, Alfred was at the man’s other arm, pulling him to his feet.  Damian leaned the tipsy man over his shoulder as he adjusted himself to his brother’s heavier than expected weight.

“Are you sure, Master Damian?” Alfred asked again.

Damian looked up at his brother’s face, and the fear he had been holding on to fled from his body.  He whispered to the butler, “He can’t hurt me anymore.”

Halfway up the stairs, some semblance of awareness returned to Dick Grayson.  He realized he was moving, and wasn’t quite sure what was happening to him.

“Wha…what’s going on?” He slurred out.

A familiar, yet unexpected voice came from very close by.  “You could help me out a little here, Grayson.  You’re heavier than you look.”

“I must be dreaming,” he mumbled to himself.  _There is no way Damian is helping me up the stairs.  He hates me, and I deserve for him to hate me.  This has to be a hallucination._

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to move your ass up the stairs,” Damian grumbled at the man.

Several minutes later, Damian flopped Grayson down on his bed.  Alfred had been kind enough to turn down the blankets earlier in the evening, so all Damian had to do was arrange Dick into what appeared to be a comfortable position.  As Damian was pulling the blankets over his brother, Dick looked up and blinked hard, like he was seeing Damian for the first time.  Their eyes met and held, and the haze of liquor seemed to lift from Dick’s eyes.  A soft smile crossed the man’s face as the boy tried not to tremble.

“It really is you, Little D, isn’t it.  I’m so sorry, brother.  You have every right to hate us.  I don’t hold it against you in the least.”

“Grayson…”

“No,” Dick interrupted, “I have to get this out.  I may not get another chance, and if you don’t give me another chance, well…I completely deserve that.  I love you, Damian.  I miss you so much.  I hate myself for what I did to you.  I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but please, please, don’t shut us out.  We want to help you get better, even though we don’t deserve you.  Go ahead, Damian.”

Damian looked at the man with confusion writ large on his face, “Go ahead, what?”

“Yell at me, scream at me, beat me up, break my arm, just please don’t lock yourself away anymore.  I can’t stand it, knowing you hate me, and not being able to do anything about it.”

Damian met the saddest eyes he had seen in a long time and sighed.  “I don’t hate you, Grayson.  I’m not going to yell, or hurt you.  It won’t solve anything.”

“You’re scared of me.  That’s almost…No, that _is_ worse.”

Damian nodded, “It is worse, and not just for you, but I’m not scared anymore.  I won’t let myself be scared.  Not of you.  I only wish you would remember this in the morning.  You’re drunk.”

“I’m not as think as you drunk I am,” Dick slurred out.

Damian rolled his eyes, “You are, if you think that made sense.  It would be really nice if we didn’t have to do this again tomorrow morning, when you might remember it.”

Dick looked confused, “Well, how do you know I won’t remember this?”

Damian almost chuckled, “You won’t.  I know you won’t, because you aren’t even sure I’m here right now.  You’re not even looking at me, you’re looking at where I was standing three minutes ago, and you still think I’m standing there.”

Dick blinked, and the boy who was speaking to him from the far end of the bed appeared a foot away, next to his head.  Dick gave a Keanu Reeves-worthy ‘whoa’ as he looked up at the boy standing over him.

“Okay, I’m a little drunker than I thought.  Since I’m drunk, and you may be a figment of my imagination, just answer some quick questions for me.”

“Okay,” Damian shrugged.

“Okay.  Am I lying in my bed?”

“Yes.”

“And did you, my little brother, help me up the stairs to my bed?”

Damian nodded, “Yes.”

“If you’re here, does that mean you are no longer in hiding?”

“Yes, it does.  I’m done with that.”

Dick looked nervous, “Do you hate me?”

Damian rolled his eyes, “I already answered that one, Grayson.  No, I don’t.”

Dick’s nerves didn’t fade, “Are you scared of me?”

Damian thought before answering truthfully.  “I was, and I may be again, but right now, here, no.”

Dick’s breath was coming in ragged gasps, “Do you forgive me?”

Damian whispered, “I do, Grayson.”

Dick swallowed hard, and his last question came out in a scared whisper, “Do you love me?”

Damian’s bottom lip quaked hard as he nodded his head.  Dick held out his arms, and Damian dove at the man, the past weeks of pain and fear melting away in Dick’s tight grip.  “Yes, Dick,” Damian whispered in the man’s ear.

Dick’s smile couldn’t stop the tears flowing from his eyes, much like the powerful feeling of his heart filling again couldn’t stop Damian’s tears.  The brothers simply held each other, letting their connection mend their frayed souls.  After several minutes, and as both were close to sleep, Damian got up, walked across the room and turned off the light.  Dropping his robe on the desk chair on his way back, Damian climbed under the blankets, curled up in Dick’s arms, and they both fell asleep.

 

**A/N: One down, one to go.**

 


	19. 19

School of Wrong

Chapter 19

_The following takes place the morning after chapter 18…_

 

Bruce woke blearily as his mattress moved under him.  Glancing around, he noticed that the room was still mostly dark.  It was early; the sun had just barely begun to rise, and with the heavy cloud layer outside, it was going to prove to be a dim day at best.

Bruce closed his eyes again, thinking nothing of the sensation of movement that had awoken him.  He had suffered through any number of hallucinations lately related to his heavy drinking, and just figured that this was the latest in that long line.  _Maybe if I go back to sleep now, I can hold my hangover off until later,_ he thought.  Bruce ignored the sensation as a byproduct of his last, mystifying dream, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Bruce was able to nod off for several more minutes, during which he had a very strange dream.  It happened in two parts.  First, he was walking around the downstairs of the manor.  Everywhere he turned, there were glasses of whiskey waiting for him.  However, every time he took one and drank it, Alfred popped up out of nowhere and threw empty liquor bottles at him.  He didn’t really care, though; the bottles breaking against his head never stopped him from taking the next drink.  Every now and then he would hesitate in taking his next drink.  In the second before he picked up the glass, he felt a pressure on his arm, like something was trying to pull him away from the table.  In the end, he would always take the drink, and Alfred would pop up again.

The second part of the dream morphed Wayne Manor into an Old West Saloon.  A massive bar fight was raging, with bottles, chairs, and tables flying everywhere.  Tinny piano music underscored the scene, lending a hint of unreality to the dream.  Bruce was no longer the master of the house, but the town drunk.  He wove his way around the bar fight, never getting hit by anything.  He would stop at everyone he could and beg them to buy him a drink.  Every time he spoke to a person, some piece of flying debris would hit them, and they would vanish, only to be replaced by another person.  The bar never seemed to empty, but people would vanish as soon as he spoke to them.  Every now and then, he would make his way to the bar, where there were trays of glasses lined up, waiting for someone to drink them.  When he would approach the bar, he felt the same sensation of pressure on his arm, but this time he was certain that it was a small hand trying to pull him back.  When he would turn around to see who or what was grabbing him, there would be nothing there.

Waking with a start, his head pounding and the room vaguely spinning, Bruce was certain he was still hallucinating.  His television was on, showing an old black and white western on the screen.  He could only see half of the screen, though, as a small form was sitting on the end of the bed, blocking half of the screen from his view.

As the fog slowly began to lift from Bruce’s mind, he drew a gasp and prayed that he wasn’t still dreaming.  He sat up slowly, hoping against hope that the child sitting on the end of his bed didn’t dissolve into smoke and blow away, another figment of his booze-addled mind.

“D-Damian,” the man whispered, hoping he didn’t just break the spell.

Not turning around, the form replied softly, “Grayson once told me that this is one of your favorite shows.  There is a marathon on today.  I was thinking, if it’s okay with you, that we could…maybe…watch it?”

Bruce’s mind whirled faster than he could process, until it came to a crashing halt, and his thought process started to reboot.  _He’s here.  Damian, my son, is here.  He’s reaching out to me.  Or, is he?  We have so much to discuss, so much to talk about.  Why isn’t he looking at me?  Does he still hate me?  If he still hates me, then why is he here?  Do I…can he possibly be giving me another chance?_

“Damian, I…”

Damian interrupted, “No.  No words.”

“Son…”

“Shh.  No.”

_Wait, did he just move a couple inches back on the bed?  Why is he trying to shut me up, while moving_ towards _me?_   “Please, Damian…”

Damian turned his head to glance at the man as he said, “Father, shush.”

Again, the boy inched closer to his father, now sitting beside the man’s outstretched legs.

“Son, what can I…”

“SHHHHHHHHHHHH!  Father, for once, just shut up.”

Damian inched his way back, until he was sitting next to the confused, hung over man.  Bruce wanted nothing more than to hold his son, but he didn’t want the boy to think he was attacking him again.  Damian wasn’t looking at Bruce, but they were close enough, a mere inch apart, that Bruce could feel the nervous tension rolling off the boy.  He could also feel the boy’s tremble through the mattress.

_He’s still scared of me.  He’s scared…but he’s here anyway.  That’s truly my brave boy._ Bruce’s eyes widened as a new thought hit him.  _He told me what he wanted.  I can give it to him now.  I’m ready now.  Wish I’d been ready before._

Bruce spoke in a hesitant whisper, hoping it was the right thing to do.  “I’m sorry, Damian.  I was wrong.”

Damian finally turned to look into his father’s face.  Mild shock was evident on the boy’s face as he heard the words he told his father would help a week ago.  Meeting the eyes that matched his own, Damian knew the man truly meant those words.

Speaking in the same nervous whisper, but with a sense of awe, Damian said, “You said it, and you mean it.”

The breath caught in Bruce’s chest.  “I do, son, I really do.”

Trying to control the shaking in his lower lip, Damian nodded at the older man.  Bruce needed no more invitation than that, as he wrapped his arms around his son and pulled him tightly to his chest.  Bruce thought his life was complete when thin, strong arms worked their way around his chest and squeezed, squeezed like Damian was holding on to a life preserver in a maelstrom.

“My boy.  Oh, my boy.”  Bruce laid back, pulling Damian down with him.

After several minutes, Bruce looked into the boy’s soft eyes and asked, “Why?  Why now?”

Damian took a deep breath and said, “I don’t want to be scared of you anymore.”

“I don’t want you to be scared of me anymore, either, son.  We’ll have to help each other with that, but I’m here for you, no matter what.”

“Y-yes, Father,” Damian said as he buried his face in Bruce’s chest.

The pair nestled together, basking in the glow of their new beginning.  Bruce’s mind refused to process anything other than the bundle he held in his arms, which had just begun snoring lightly.  _Everything will be different now.  He’s giving me this chance, even though I desperately don’t deserve it.  I’m not going to blow it again.  How much time have I lost with all of my sons over the years, due to my idiocy?  They all deserve so much better than me.  I don’t understand why they keep giving me extra chances, after everything I do to them._

Bruce’s thoughts were interrupted by a new urgency, the only thing that could have pried him away from his youngest in that moment.  Bruce flung himself out of the bed, waking his son in the process, crossed the room to the bathroom in a flash, and proceeded to give up much of the whiskey he drank, and everything he had eaten, the night before.  When the worst was over, Bruce pressed his pounding forehead against the cool porcelain of the bowl and waited for his body to stop fighting against him.

Outside of his pain, Damian’s voice reached him from the bathroom door.  “Not exactly the best wake up call, is it Father?  You have no reason to drink anymore, so you are no longer allowed to.  You are better than this, and I won’t allow you to pour that disgusting filth into your body anymore.  Don’t bother asking Pennyworth for a drink, either.  He is on my side in this.  I have instructed him that he is not to provide you with alcohol until I am old enough to purchase it legally in this country.  Special allowances will be made for your society gatherings and fundraisers, to have it in the house, but the staff will be instructed that you and Grayson are not to be served.  This moratorium may be lifted if you can prove to me that you are able to handle yourself in the responsible manner befitting my Father, but until then, you only drink what Pennyworth serves me.  I understand that whiskey is tempting, but I hope that you can be stronger than that temptation, for the sake of your family, and the city at large.”

Bruce flushed the toilet, cleaned his mouth, and looked up at his son from the bathroom floor.  It may have just been the hangover, but Bruce didn’t see his son, he saw the man his son would be.  Bruce liked what he saw, but something Damian said was nagging at him.

Bruce slurred out, “How do you know how tempting whiskey can be?  You’re… _hrk_ …twelve.”  Bruce’s stomach started churning again, and he was glad that he was able to finish his sentence before possibly having to dive back at the bowl.

“…And?  What does twelve have to do with anything?” Bruce gave the boy a confused look as Damian continued.  “Following my first few kills, I had difficulty sleeping.  Mother found out.  She wasn’t happy about it, but offered a solution.  Mother figured that, if I was old enough to kill, then I was old enough to drink.  So, I did.  However, after spending numerous nights, and mornings, and a couple terrible afternoons, how you find yourself now, I stopped.”  Damian took on an introspective tone of voice, “I guess I preferred nightmares and guilt to nausea and headaches and vomit.”

Damian turned his attention back to his father, who was wearing a sick look on his face.  Damian had a good guess that the look was more from his tale than from the current churning of his stomach.  “I stopped, Father.  It holds no attraction for me.  You can stop, too, and you will.  I’m not giving you a choice in the matter.”  Damian took a deep breath before saying what he hoped would be the clincher, “I need you more than you need whiskey.  Do you understand that?  I _need_ you, Father.  I need you to be what Mother never could.  I need you to be here, with me.  Not this shell of yourself that you’ve turned into, but _you_ , Bruce Wayne.  My Father.  My hero.”

_My hero?  How the hell did I become his hero?  When did I become his hero?  I didn’t even know Damian had heroes.  That’s something I have to live up to.  Damn, wherever he learned to make a speech, he was paying attention.  I have no choice.  Not only that, I don’t want another choice.  If he needs me that bad, then I have to be there for him.  Damian would never reveal himself like that if he didn’t mean it…if he didn’t think it was his only option…his last chance._ My _last chance.  I’m not going to blow this, not again._

Bruce wiped his eyes and smiled at his son.  In a whisper, the only voice he could manage, Bruce asked, “Will you help me, son?”

A relieved smile broke across Damian’s face.  “Just tell me what you need, Father.”

Bruce held out a hand to the boy, and Damian instantly came and took it.  Instead of helping to pull the man up, which is what Bruce was expecting, Damian sat in the man’s lap and placed his head on his father’s shoulder.  Thinking he could always use another hug, Bruce held the boy for a minute before saying, “I think, right now, I would like to get out this bathroom.”

Smiling again, Damian stood and helped Bruce to his feet.  He slung the man’s arm over his shoulder and helped balance him on his way back to the bed.  Damian sat the man on the edge of the bed, but then sprang away to Bruce’s closet.  Before the man could ask what was happening, Damian returned with Bruce’s slippers and robe.  He helped dress his father before pulling the man to his feet and moving him towards the door.

Bruce stared longingly back at his bed before asking, “Where are we going?”

“Breakfast,” the boy replied.  “Last night, I requested a special breakfast from Pennyworth, something that will hopefully get both of us on the road to recovery.  Um…Let’s take the elevator.  Helping Grayson up the stairs last night was hard enough, I don’t want to take the risk of dropping you down them this morning.”

Tim yawned his way into the kitchen and took a seat at the breakfast bar.  He propped his head up in his hands and fought with his eyes for them to stay open.  With Batman, Nightwing, and Robin off the active list, protection of the city had fallen to Red Hood and Red Robin.  Between them, they had been able to keep the city from falling into total anarchy, but just barely.  Last night’s patrol had been so busy that Tim had barely returned to his bed before dawn.

A full minute after he sat down, and only when Alfred returned to the kitchen with a fresh carton of eggs, did Tim notice that there was far more activity in the space than normal.  Bacon and sausage were browning in a pan, coffee was percolating, the toaster gave a snap as perfectly browned slices of bread popped out of the slots.  Alfred set the eggs aside and began grating a block of cheese as he said, “Good morning, Master Timothy.  You got in rather late last night. Or, should I say, early this morning?”

“Busy night, Alfred,” Tim yawned.  “Isn’t this a lot of food for just me and Damian?  I mean, I know he needs to gain weight, but…”

Alfred picked up where Tim trailed off, “I believe, young sir, that we will have a full table this morning.”

Tim perked up at the statement.  “Oh?  Something happen while I was out?”

Hearing a shuffle from the hallway, Alfred turned to the teen and said, “See for yourself.”

Tim’s jaw dropped as Bruce entered the kitchen, supported by Damian.  Damian sat Bruce on a stool next to Tim, then pulled another stool over, until it touched the one Bruce was sitting in.  Damian then took the second seat, snuggling close to the man and letting Bruce lean on him to stay upright.  Bruce wrapped his arm around Damian, more to hold on to the boy than to keep himself in his seat.

“Good morning, Pennyworth, Drake.” Damian said with a contented smile on his face.

Tim sat with his jaw hanging from surprise as Alfred set out coffee cups in front of his charges.

“Master Damian, is everything mended this morning?”

Damian looked up at his father and said, “No, but we are well on our way.  We have a long road ahead, but…you know…first steps, and all.”

Tim’s jaw finally snapped shut, and he couldn’t kill his smile, even if he wanted to.  “You finally did it.”

Bruce gave a strained sound, and his eyes widened.  One hand held his stomach while the other flew to cover his mouth.  He quickly got up and gasped out, “Excuse me for a minute, boys,” before running from the kitchen.

Looking concerned, Damian called out, “Do you need help, Father?”

Bruce didn’t answer, but Alfred followed his employer out of the kitchen, saying, “I shall handle it, Master Damian.”

Left alone, Damian turned back to Tim.  Smiling still, the teen stood and approached his little brother.  Tim grabbed the boy in a tight hug and said, “I’m proud of you, Damian.  You obviously got over whatever was keeping you from knocking some sense into Bruce.  Are you okay?  Is this what you want?”

Damian took a deep breath, surprising Tim only slightly by returning the hug.  “I couldn’t stand to see them in so much pain anymore.  It’s going to take a while before I’m okay with this, but it’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be.  I…I want them to be better more than I want to stay scared of them.”

Tim took a step back, his smile growing.  “First step of bravery, little brother.  I know you have plenty more of them in you.”

Damian nodded as Tim took his seat again.  “I hate to do this, Drake, but I need your help.  They are going to be looking to me to help them get better.  While I am willing to help in any way I can in order to get my Father and brother back, I know there is only so much I can do on my own.”

“What do you need, Damian?  Just name it.”

“I need to be there for them, but I will need someone to be there for me.  I…I would like that to be you, Drake.  You have proven more than capable of looking after me recently.  Some of it was even…nice.  Just…keep your eyes open.  I believe you know me better than I think you do; you know what to look out for.  You seem to be the solid one in the family.  Maybe, every now and then, you would let me lean on you?”

_Wow, if I didn’t know better, I would say that Damian trusts me.  That’s…that’s going to take some time to process._ “Damian, Dick will tell you that I’m always there for my brothers.  Since that is what you are, I’m here for you.  If you’re ever feeling overwhelmed, you just come to me.  If you ever want to talk, you come find me.  If you ever want not to talk, you come find me.  It seems like you took a big step this morning, or last night, or both.  I can follow your lead and take a step of my own.”

Damian looked up and met Tim’s eyes.  They held each other’s gaze, and Tim could feel gratitude in the look.  Even so, he was surprised when he heard the boy say softly, “Thank you, Tim.”

Alfred and Bruce reentered the room, Bruce looking pale and drawn, Alfred a bit on the green side.  Bruce sat heavily between his sons, placing arms around both of their shoulders in appreciation of what a special morning this had turned into.

Alfred resumed his preparations and said, “Master Damian, I apologize for not having the breakfast you requested ready earlier.”

“It’s okay, Pennyworth.  You couldn’t know what time we would be getting up this morning.  I didn’t think we would be up this early, to be honest.  Thank you for going out of your way.”

“Well, young sir,” the butler replied, “It seems to be the order of the day.”

“It does,” Tim concurred, “The only thing that I don’t get is why you didn’t start this whole…thing…with Dick?”

“I did,” Damian said, to Bruce’s surprise.  “I talked with him last night, when he tried to walk upstairs to bed, and failed.”

“What do you mean, son?”

Damian looked up at his father and said, “I came down last night for a snack.  Pennyworth said you were already in bed, and Grayson was asleep on your couch.  We found him lying on the stairs, and I carried him to bed.”

Bruce looked up and said, “Alfred, you let him do that when he’s still recovering?”

Before the butler could try to defend himself, Damian interjected, “I insisted, Father.  If I was ever going to get over my fear of him, I had to be the one to take him.  I got him settled in his bed, and we talked for a bit.  I doubt he will remember any of it, but we hashed out…a lot.  I…I slept there last night.”

Tim was smiling again.  “Probably the first good night’s sleep he’s had in weeks.”

Bruce pulled Damian in close again and said, “I’m proud of you, son.”

A thump and a groan from the hallway heralded the arrival of the last resident of Stately Wayne Manor.  Dick stumbled blearily into the kitchen and pulled up a stool.  “Mornin’ everyone.  Alfred, please, COFFEE!”

Damian took the cup from in front of him and handed it to his oldest brother.  “Here.  I’m not in a coffee mood this morning.”

“Thanks, Little D.  I need that.” 

Dick took a long drink before his eyes grew wide.  He turned too fast and fell off his stool.  Gaping up from the floor, he gasped out, “Damian!  What are…Who is…Are you…What the…”

Bruce smiled at his eldest, his arm still around Damian’s shoulders.  “You okay, chum?”

Dick stammered as his eyes refused to leave the boy’s face.  He couldn’t help but feel warm at the smile being sent his way.  “It wasn’t a dream, was it?  Last night?  Please tell me it wasn’t a dream, Damian.  I couldn’t stand it if I were hallucinating right now.”

Damian shook off Bruce’s arm, stood, and offered his good hand to his collapsed brother.  “It wasn’t a dream, Grayson.  I’m here.  I’m not going anywhere.  It gets lonely on the third floor, all by myself.  There are people here; people who shouldn’t throw themselves away over me.  If I can do something to stop that waste, then I will.”

Dick took the offered hand and pulled himself up.  He dropped the hand and engulfed its owner in a tight hug and whispered, “You’re not a waste, Damian.  We love you.  I love you.  Thank you for this, and for helping us get back.  I know you’ll be there for us, just like we want to be there for you.”

Damian gave his brother a strange look.  “I never said _I_ was a waste.  I know I’m not.  But, you know…thanks, and…you’re welcome…I guess.”

Damian and Dick sat down again, and when they did, plates of omelets were set before them.  As they ate, Dick said, “Hey, Timmy.  You aren’t feeling left out over there, are you?”

Damian answered for the teen, “Of course he isn’t.  While you two are turning to me and focusing on me, who do you think I will be turning to?  Drake is, eventually, going to be the one who holds us all together.”

Tim blushed at the words, and scooted his stool just a bit closer to Bruce’s.  The man’s arm snaked around the teen again as he said, “I’m just glad we can start to put this whole thing behind us.”

After breakfast, and Alfred’s prescribed courses of Advil and hot showers for the ex-inebriates, Bruce and Dick called Damian into Bruce’s study.

“Damian, we are both proud of what you’ve done today.  So much so, that we are going to give you something.  Now, don’t take this the wrong way, but…here.”

Bruce reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out two half-empty bottles of whiskey.  Damian eyed them harshly and said, “What is this about, Father?”

“These are the last two I have in here.  To show our commitment, and our seriousness in getting clean, I want you to take those.  Do whatever you want with them.”

Damian looked up suspiciously.  “You do realize that you are giving your twelve year old son alcohol?  There are many who would consider that to be questionable behavior.”

“Your mother did the same thing.” Dick gave Bruce a shocked look, “I’ll explain later, chum.  The difference this time is that I trust that you know exactly what to do with it.”

Damian gave Bruce a devious smile, which Bruce returned.  “I believe I do, Father.”

Damian walked out of the study, Bruce and Dick following behind, and headed for the downstairs restroom.  Once there, and making sure that Bruce and Dick had followed him into the room, Damian opened both bottles and dumped them down the sink.  Once the last drop was gone, he ran the tap to wash away any last bit of alcohol as Dick and Bruce smiled broadly.

Bruce said warmly, “That’s my boy.  There is a second part to this as well, a small token that will hopefully matter.  Dick?”

Dick stepped forward and pulled an old key out of his pocket.  Handing it to Damian, he said, “We, uh, kinda swiped this from Alfred.  It’s the key to the wine cellar and alcohol vault, located in the cellar.  This is the only copy of that key in existence.  Alfred wasn’t happy to find out that we had to sneak into his rooms to steal it.  We want you to hold on to it for us.  Keep it in a safe place.”

Damian smiled at the token.  “I will.”

“First,” Bruce said, “We need to go down to the cellar.  You are going to make sure that the cellar door is locked.”

Damian looked up and said, “We don’t need to do that.  I trust you, Father.  You and Grayson won’t disappoint me.”

Bruce hugged his boy, “Thank you, Damian,” he whispered.

Stepping back, he smirked at the two men.  “Besides, if you choose to violate my trust, you might as well just stay in the cellar, because one way or another, I _will_ lock you in there.”

Bruce returned the smile, “That’s my boy.”

 

**A/N: Hope that works for everyone.  Don’t forget to read the epilogue.  It may be short, but it is very important as far as both this story, and my whole future timeline, are concerned.  Don’t think that, just because it is a closing chapter, there can’t be twists and turns.**

**Thanks for playing along.**


	20. Epilogue

School of Wrong

Epilogue

 

For the first time in the three hundred fifty year history of Stately Wayne Manor, December 25th went uncelebrated.  The tree, a half-hearted purchase at the beginning of the month, was the smallest that had ever adorned the formal living room, at only six feet.  The sparsely decorated conifer stood nearly forgotten in a room that had only been populated twice since Alfred finished decorating the tree.  The lights had only been turned on sparingly, lending a sad aura to the room.

While those in the house truly felt they had something to celebrate now, most of the residents were not physically capable of it on the actual day.  Christmas Eve had gone well, following the breakthroughs of the previous night and that morning.  Damian spent most of the day either in Bruce’s embrace, or close by, but almost always within arm’s reach.  Dick, missing his little brother terribly, had stayed close as well.  The three of them had watched the Rifleman marathon, as Damian had initially suggested to Bruce.  Tim and Alfred, on the outside of the circle of reconciliation, had agreed to stay mostly out of the way.  The family had truly gone to bed with visions of sugar plums dancing through their heads that Christmas Eve night.

Christmas Day had dawned cold and rainy.  The gloom outside matched what Alfred found upstairs when he went to wake the family for their meager Christmas celebration.  Bruce and Dick were suffering fully from both the effects of their hangovers and a new symptom, withdrawal.  They were shaky, sore, and grouchy.  They didn’t care if it was Christmas, they just wanted to sleep.  Alfred was more than willing to accommodate their wishes.

Damian was shaky, sore, and grouchy as well, but for an entirely different reason.  The boy had been valiantly fighting a cold since his return from the Janus School.  Christmas morning, he lost the battle.  The sickness had hit him full force overnight, and the only words Alfred could get out of him that Christmas morning were that he was miserable.  The butler believed him after he took the child’s temperature and got back a reading of 103.  Damian was ordered to go back to sleep, and he gladly complied as Alfred threw another blanket over the shivering lump in the bed.

So it was that Christmas was marked by the butler and the third son quietly.  They worked together to care for their stricken family members, and in between took a little time for themselves.  It had been years since Tim and Alfred had any quiet time together, and both looked on it as a gift in itself.

Fortunately, as the day wore on, some recovery was made.  Damian’s fever broke in the late afternoon, and he was able to come downstairs to have dinner with Tim and Alfred.  Of course, chicken noodle soup and hot tea was not the Christmas dinner anyone thought they would be having.

Bruce and Dick were bravely attempting to outlast their cravings.  Alfred’s home remedies only offered so much relief, and in the end, they were suffering.  It got a little better in the late afternoon, when Damian was able to make a short appearance at each man’s bedside, to remind them what they were suffering for.  They each put on a brave face and promised not to break under the pressure, for Damian’s sake.  If the boy could be there to comfort them while under the weather, then they could do it for him.

December 26th saw some improvement.  Once his fever broke, Damian started to make a speedy recovery.  He was almost back to normal when he surprised Alfred by coming downstairs for breakfast.  Bruce and Dick made an appearance just before lunch, looking like they had just fought a war.  Damian and Alfred were vaguely wondering which side had won, and if the battle was truly over.  Alfred kept them supplied with painkillers, and they were able to extend their time downstairs.

With the family assembled, Bruce and Dick started to feel a little more like themselves.  At least, until Alfred suggested they take some time to have a bit of Christmas.  Both men had been so preoccupied with other matters that the season had completely passed them by.  Fortunately for them, Alfred and Tim had made the rounds, to make sure that everyone had a little something under the tree.

As much as he had gotten used to the extravagant holidays of almost a lifetime spent with Bruce, Dick found himself quite emotional over the four wrapped gifts with his name on them.  It took him back to a time when the ability to even have four packages addressed to him would have taken a whole year of scrimping and saving.  A time when the holiday celebration meant spending a quiet day with the two most important people in his life, the two that meant everything to him.  Bruce had provided Dick with many special holidays over the years, and deep down he knew that the man had tried desperately to make up for the loss of his parents, but the holidays were never the same.  He had never outgrown the little circus boy with the holes in his jeans and the sweater that was three sizes too large, purposely bought that way because he wouldn’t outgrow it as fast.  Now, looking at gifts that were chosen with care and special thought, instead of whim, brought him back to those early days.

_This may be the best Christmas we’ve ever had here.  Despite everything that has gone wrong this year, we are all here.  The only thing that could make this better would be if they could have been here.  I know it never could have happened that way, but I can wish and dream.  How perfect would life have been if I could have had Mom and Dad and Bruce, all at the same time?  Wow, it’s been over a year since I’ve visited their graves.  How can time possibly have gotten away from me so quickly?  I’ll have to go out and visit them tomorrow.  I wonder if Damian would want to go with me?  I’ve never taken him out there.  I wonder if Bruce has ever taken Damian to see his parent’s grave?  I know for a fact that Tim hasn’t been to his parent’s grave in a long time.  How much of a ghoul are they going to think I am if I suggest a trip to the cemetery?  It doesn’t matter, I’m going anyway.  I would like some company, though._

Damian found that he didn’t care much for presents this year.  Nothing mattered to him more than the fact that his father and brothers were surrounding him.  Even with the remnants of his cold, and the persistent headaches Bruce and Dick complained of, everything felt comfortable and _right_ to the boy.

_I like this.  No pressure.  No expectations.  No big commitments.  Everyone we care about is here.  Everything is…comfortable.  I wonder if this is how the holidays are in normal families?  I doubt that we will ever be considered normal, but this may be the closest we get.  Eh, normal is boring.  Normal doesn’t get to fly around town every night and protect the city.  Normal doesn’t see a disparate bunch of strangers come together as a family.  Normal doesn’t take that family and turn them into heroes.  Normal isn’t us, but this…this is nice.  I think Mother would like this, as well.  At least, as long as she doesn’t try to kill anyone, or start a blood feud, or something.  I wonder if Father would let me try to call her?  It is the holiday season, after all.  Even an assassin queen could put aside her hostility to talk to her son on Christmas, even just for a couple minutes.  It’s been over a year since I’ve heard her voice.  It…it would be nice to hear it again…maybe…just a bit._

Damian snuggled a little closer into Dick’s side as the thought ran through his mind.  Dick’s arm wrapped unconsciously around Damian, providing a bit of extra comfort without him needing to ask for it.

An hour later, the gathering broke up as the family went to take care of their personal matters.  Tim approached Damian as the boy was left sitting on the couch, staring at the tree.

“You okay, Damian?  You looked like something was bothering you a while ago,” the teen asked.

Damian heaved a sigh that seemed bigger than him, “Oh, I was just thinking about my mother.  It’s Christmas, after all.  I just thought it would be nice to hear her voice.”

Tim was surprised that he got an answer to his question.  “That must be tough.  Why don’t you call her?  I’m sure Bruce wouldn’t mind.”

“Because we’re having a nice day, and I don’t want her to ruin it.  I can imagine calling her, and her being happy to hear from me.  I can also imagine calling her, and inciting her to send a League of Assassins death squad to Gotham, to finish me off once and for all.  If it stays in my head, then I can imagine that it happened and everything went well.  I just wish I could hear her voice in my head when I thought of her.”

Tim hugged the boy.  “I bet Bruce has a recording of her in the cave somewhere.  Maybe he would let you listen to that?”

Damian sniffled, “It wouldn’t be the same, but I guess that is better than nothing.  Thank you, Drake.  Maybe later, you could help me look for a recording?”

“Sure, Damian.  Sounds like a plan.”

Damian wandered off, and found Alfred in the kitchen.  Sitting at the bar again, Damian asked in a curious tone, “What are you doing, Pennyworth?”

Alfred started, for once not hearing the boy’s approach.  “I am just pulling out ingredients for tonight’s dinner.  Did you finally grow weary of your father and brother’s company?”

Damian padded around the counter and stood next to the butler.  “Father is taking a shower.  Grayson is upstairs, trying to call Gordon.  Drake and I just had a little talk.  He’s going to help me with a small project later.  I was wondering if tonight would be a good one to take you up on your offer?”

Alfred had to think back to remember if he had made an offer to the boy.  Damian was looking in the pantry as the butler remembered the boy’s assertion that he could cook.  A smile split his lips as he said, “I think that would be most appropriate, Master Damian.  Would you like to try the same dish again, or did you have something else in mind?”

Damian smiled to himself as he said, “I think the same one would work well for tonight.  Something warm and comforting sounds good tonight.”

“Comforting, did you say, my boy?”

Damian sighed, “Long story.  Let’s just say that today has brought up some distant memories.”

Alfred caught the slightly haunted look in the boy’s eyes.  It was the same look he noticed in Master Dick’s eyes earlier.  “I daresay that has happened quite a bit today, young sir.  Perhaps you and Master Dick should have a talk later.”

Cocking his head at the cryptic answer, Damian just nodded, “I might just do that, Pennyworth.”

The boy and the butler rummaged in the pantry, pulling out the ingredients necessary for Alfred’s special pasta sauce.  Once everything was set out, Damian turned to the butler.  “Do you think this will be enough for the five of us?  We want to have extra for leftovers, too.”

“Five?” Alfred looked a bit confused, “Are you expecting company, Master Damian?”

Damian smiled at the man, “Yes, Pennyworth, you.  You are family.  You can break your own rule for tonight and eat with us.  After you sit down and let me make dinner, of course.”

“Sit down?” Alfred sounded scandalized, “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“But you can, and more importantly, you have to.  As I understand it, it’s a tradition.”

Alfred stopped his next comment out of confusion.  “Are you talking about…”

“Happy Boxing Day, Pennyworth.” Damian interrupted.

Alfred chuckled at the smile presented before him.  “You may be the first person in this house to understand that particular tradition, Master Damian, and I thank you.  I will, however, be right here if you need me.”

Damian waited until the butler sat down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen before turning back to the counter.  Talking to himself, he said, “Okay, pasta for five, plus leftovers.  I’m going to need more penne.”

Chuckling at the gusto at which Damian tackled the task he set before himself, Alfred soon found himself entranced, watching the boy work.  True to his claim, it seemed that Damian truly knew his way around the kitchen.  He was so enthralled that he completely missed the second preparation being done, until Damian brought him a gently steaming cup of tea and said, “I hope I made it the way you like, Pennyworth.”

Alfred took a sip, nodding in his approval.  “That was very considerate of you, young sir.  Thank you.”

Damian returned to his meal preparation with a smile on his face.

In another part of the house, Bruce sat relaxing.  Staring at the small tree, its lights burning for only the third time this season, Bruce began to appreciate the simple warmth of this very non-traditional holiday.

_Overall, it hasn’t been too bad.  Actually, it’s been a pretty good way to end the year.  A major criminal in jail, his crime ring busted, and my family back together and closer than ever.  If I didn’t want your head for a trophy, I would thank you, Harvey Dent.  I shouldn’t say this, but I don’t think this day could get much better._

The snow had started falling gently again over the past hour, again providing a white blanket to the bushes and shrubs visible through the steadily darkening window.  The rain of the past two days had done a good job of washing away the snow, but it looked like it was going to return tonight, thicker and fluffier.  Bruce couldn’t wipe the slow grin off his face, and he found that he didn’t want to.

The doorbell rang, shaking Bruce from his reverie.  _Who could possibly be here, now?  Clark would come in through the cave.  The phone hasn’t rang in days, so no one told us they’re coming over.  Can’t I just have one nice day with my family, without any interruptions?_

“I got it, Alfred,” Bruce called out as he headed to the entryway.

“Thank you, sir,” came called back softly from the direction of the kitchen.  Bruce didn’t know that Alfred was being treated to a special break from his son, and as such hadn’t even heard the doorbell.  Damian had pointed it out to him after Bruce’s shout.

_This had better be worth it_ , Bruce thought as he pulled the heavy door open.  “Yes?  What can I…oh my god.”

Bruce’s jaw dropped as he saw who stood on his front porch.

“Hi, Bruce.  Sorry to just drop by.”

_It can’t be.  It just can’t.  I’m not that lucky.  Things don’t just fall into place like this for me._   “No.  It’s okay.  You…you’re always welcome.  Come in.  Come in, it’s freezing out there.”

“Oh, yeah.  Um…thanks.”

Bruce made way as his visitor walked into the entryway and brushed snow off of his shoulders.  Bruce shut the door and stared at almost the last person he expected to see come through his door.  “So, um…what brings you here?”

Jason Todd looked uncharacteristically nervous as he glanced at Bruce, then away, then back at the man he once called Father.  “I just wanted to…um…well, it was just an idea that was posed to me.”

“What is it, son?”

Jason found that he didn’t mind the title so much, this time.  “Well, dinner’s still at seven, right?”

 

**A/N:  There we go.  I told you it would be worth waiting for.  Yes, I did just end it there, and I’ll tell you why.  This story has sparked my brain into thinking about stories I never even considered before.  I currently have five planned follow up stories, all sprouting from this one.  That consists of three rough outlines and two stories that are already being written.**

**I’ll be honest, I was out of fresh ideas until about halfway through School of Wrong.  Now, I’m moving forward with my new ideas.  I think they will set new spins on my version of the Batman universe.  All five stories will be connected, with their roots stemming from this story.  Of course, they will all fit into my current timeline.  I’m not ‘New 52-ing’ my currently established stories.  I will also be introducing a new minor character that will see some decent rotation in the next few stories.  The new character was introduced in this story as a throwaway, comic relief point, but I have decided to develop the character a little more fully in the future.**

**Speaking of characters, I have maintained that I don’t like Jason because I don’t like how he’s written in the comics.  Then, I had a brainwave.  I’m not writing the comics, I’m writing my own universe.  I can take these characters, write them however I want, and do anything I damn well please with them.  At the end of the day, the only person my writing has to satisfy is me.  So, to all you Jason fans out there, expect to see him featured more prominently in my works, just don’t expect him to be a strict comic book adaptation.  Like my characterization of Tim, it will be done how I please, while still retaining some elements of the original character.**

**Thanks for all the follows, likes, and encouraging reviews.  That is what keeps me writing, is knowing that people are reading and appreciating what I’m putting out.**

**Thanks for playing along.  There is more to come.**


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